


Heavenly Bodies, Imperceptible Madness

by sourdieselouis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anxiety, Bisexuality, Blow Jobs, Dancer Louis, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Health Issues, Miscommunication, Physics, Singer Harry, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-01-04 08:13:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18339686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sourdieselouis/pseuds/sourdieselouis
Summary: An atypical brain, a whole lot of physics, and a passion for dance make up the one Louis Tomlinson. It takes a precise amount of energy to figure him out, but Harry Styles is more than willing to take that risk.





	1. The Sixteenth Count

**Author's Note:**

> Endless thanks to someone so very special to me for helping me feel comfortable to post this.

_ I can calculate the motion of heavenly bodies, but not the madness of people. — Sir Isaac Newton _

[ **If You Could Read My Mind - Gordon Lightfoot** ](https://open.spotify.com/track/0fjYN9BylnRXMA3or3QSld?si=gmc5zvO5Q5e0O20FhWDFvA)

**May 2018**

 

Seven hundred fifty-six million eight hundred sixty-four thousand seconds, two hundred ten thousand two hundred forty hours, nearly two hundred eighty-eight months, twenty four years, and it was all the exact same measurement that added up to precisely how long Louis dedicated his life to the art of dance. 

On a smaller scale, it had been three hundred fifteen million five hundred sixty-nine thousand five hundred twenty seconds since the the simple reality around him turned into something more than just the obvious. Each and every day his diaphragm contracted and relaxed with every inhale and exhale, respectively. Each and everyday the slight inclination of the exit ramp onto the motorway seemed even more conspicuous when he saw the change in kilometers per hour on the speedometer. Each and every day for the past three hundred fifteen million five hundred sixty-nine thousand five hundred twenty seconds, physics was the the seemingly never-ending turmoil that boiled inside his veins.

On an even more increasingly stressful note, a shameful one for sure,  _ everything  _ came back to the idea of physics all because of his professor constantly providing the most realistic, day-to-day life free response problems. These problems, of course, were terrifically  _ shit  _ and  _ horrifying  _ everytime they appeared on lined pages of notes (color coated and all, of course) and the exams that followed. Louis was mediocre at best when it came to physics, and to this day, he believes that’s why it eats away at him so much. His mediocrity in such an irrelevant subject in his life  _ should  _ have made him drown in boredom, but no. It’s quite the opposite, and the irrelevance of calculating the static friction of an object in order to know the exact force necessary for motion which lead to a whole other world of velocity, energy, work… But here he was, a demure, refined performer of twenty-seven years old, eternally worried about finding his own static friction.

The only thing remotely worse than the interminable desire for fucking  _ physics  _ was the interminable desire to kiss all the pretty boys in the world. Don’t be mislead though. Physics was still positively crucial. Louis still wanted to know the embarrassing acceleration of his heartbeat in a mere thirty seconds. Just a simple delta velocity over delta time… But he couldn’t beat (pun intended, of course) away the fact that pretty boys did something to his chest that no one else could possibly do. Calvin, Louis’ longtime best friend, called his messy, physics-oriented mind an unfortunate circumstance which drove Louis fucking batty. But after serious consideration, he gave in to the title, wearing it proudly. And as the years passed, Louis accepted his love for physics to be caused by the attractiveness of his professor, already married with two children. However, that one was going to be kept locked away in his head (and wank bank) forever.

Now, back on a more serious, current matter, Louis’ stress levels peaked bright and early this morning. One would think after over two decades of performing the creaking nerves and harrowing anxiousness would dissipate, but absolutely not. Whether it was a show or audition, that small ping went off in the center of Louis’ belly, discomfort and disquietude bloomed like a prepossessing flower in springtime. But, yes, the worry belabored every muscle fiber in his body because this wasn’t just  _ any  _ audition. This was an audition for a  _ music video.  _ Again, not just  _ any  _ music video. A solo performance for the one and only Harry Styles. Which, let’s be real, caused a near deadly acceleration in Louis’ heartbeat. Fucking physics  _ had  _ to rattle his brain with vicious fury even more than Harry’s unnatural dimples and dumb, ringed, let-me-fuck-myself-on-them fingers. And if Louis had a desire to be fucked by said fingers, it said a lot because more often than not (and by that he means every time except once), he  _ loves  _ putting his cock in someone else, preferably a male.

The need for a wank right now would be unbearably awkward because one, Calvin was sat next to him strumming softly at the strings of his guitar (bless him for willingly playing the audition) two, he was sat outside the studio entrance, mere minutes away from his audition and three, it was just  _ wrong  _ to wank over a possible future job offer.

“All right, man?” Cal asked, shifting forward in the rickety chair. The sound creaked a ghastly decibel that made Louis’ stomach quiver with angst.

“Fucking buzzin’.” Louis slapped on a smile, tucking his hands evenly underneath his thighs. Truthfully, it was a plaintive attempt to halt Louis from plucking at his eyelashes.

“Lou, if you are having another wave coming on, we can bolt.” It was a genuine offer and deep down Louis was gracious for a friend like Calvin. Unlike most, he accepted and tried his damndest to understand. But under the stress of it all, Louis couldn’t handle it. 

“Fuck, I can do it. I’m not  _ mental.  _ I’m perfectly fine, thank you very-.”

“Louis Tomlinson!” The exclamation caused Louis to jump, his heart stopping for a mere moment. In a haze, he stopped his fussing, standing with Calvin to head towards the voice called. Typical protocol, he knew that by now. 

When the two entered the spacious, discomfitingly luxurious studio, the same voice that called his name popped up again. But from  _ where? _ “Only Louis Tomlinson in the room, please.”

“Wait, no. I’m sorry. I emailed asking if I could have someone come in and play for me. I-I can show-.” Louis blanched, heart rate picking up. A scary acceleration in such a short amount of time. Despite the low pitch, the eerie silence of the room made it feel like the sound of his heart beat echoed off the walls. Louis averted his eyes up to see the woman standing against the railing of the balcony overlooking the room. If she dropped just then, at what force would she collide with the ground… A simple Newton’s Second Law problem. 

“I said, no accompaniment. We have the music.” Calvin turned to Louis, head cocked. He did that minuscule thing with his eyes, signaling to Louis in a way that only Louis picked up on over the years. With a pleading expression, he shook his head, praying he would stay. Without Cal playing, there was no way he would be able to successfully perform without sinking to the floor, piteous tears in his eyes. 

“I need him to play for me, please,” Louis choked on his words. No other audition had ever made him feel this small before. Each pulse point hammered against Louis in an almost painful manner. The air particles felt like they multiplied by a trillion in size making it harder by the second to inhale. If he smoked, he felt like this is how it would feel. Terrifying and dizzying, on the edge of collapsing.

And then the woman turned over her shoulder. From where Louis was, he couldn’t hear what was going on above, but it was  _ something  _ and the anticipation was eating away at him way more than he liked. When the woman turned back around, her lips were pressed in a tight line, hands gripping ferociously at the metal bar in front of her.

“Let’s go. Begin.” The tension evaporated from Louis’ shoulders, a tossed a smile over to Calvin. A simple nod, and he went to one of the chairs against the back wall. As Louis toed off his shoes, he rolled his neck, cracking the rest of the stinging tension from his body. One breath later, wringing his hands, he took his place.

The steady strum of Calvin’s guitar wafted like the sweetest, most despairing perfume through the room. A much needed sense of comfort swam through Louis’ body. Had it not been for the acoustic performance, there would have never been a chance for this exact moment.

Four, eight, twelve, and on the sixteenth count, the melodious voice from the track filled his head with heaving sorrow and turned over his shoulder, dropping into an effortless safety. Even over the elegant strum and continuous voice playing out in his head, there was no missing the audible gasp from above. After years of agonizing, torturous performances and auditions, that was a beguiling note. 

A sharp smirk at the ground before he snapped his head up, his limbs moving with grace into a starfish position. Without hesitation or fear, he thrust his hips upward, back arching as he went to standing position. A drag of the foot, and Louis stood in parallel first, once side of his body dipping downward, hand reaching for the floor. His other hand crawled up the side of his body stretching for the sky. It was simple, truly,  _ every action has an opposite and equal reaction.  _

In quick succession, his body bent at the side, following the path of the hand towards the ceiling. Without falling from the undeviating melody coming from Calvin or the jumbling the lyrics in his head, he eased into a deep grand second plié. Accompanied by a natural breeze, his body swiveled to the front, feet connecting in turned out first position. One strong exhale and his arms elongated from their tucked position by his armpits. 

He smiled, feeling the rush of something so sublime  _ drip, drip, drip  _ into the pit of his stomach. One glance at Calvin, and it was game on. Cal nodded, a knowing simper on his mouth. And Louis let go, body giving into each and every note gadding about the room. 

No matter how physically in shape he was, his lungs screamed viciously for air during every performance. There was no doubt in Louis’ mind or anyone else’s mind for that matter, that he always have every fiber of his being to his dances. One dive into a one eighty ponché roll up to standing, a fluid above ninety arabesque following, quite the simplistic move, but something,  _ something  _ about the way Louis’ body moved… It made it seem like the most debonair of details.

With a singular spine roll downwards, Louis ended up on his knees, hands clasped in his lap. His eyes were trained up to the balcony, and even thought he couldn’t see the people above, he knew they could see each and every rise and fall of his chest. Heavy, molten breaths passed his lips as he stood to his aching toes, bruised and scarred beyond repair. 

“Dismissed.” After the impeding exasperation from only four minutes beforehand, Louis bowed his thanks and grabbed his shoes, desperately needing to disappear from the room. Calvin passed him an evocative look, trailing after Louis with his guitar, not bothering to utter a single syllable.  _ He knew.  _

Once back in the disgustingly rickety chairs, Louis felt the tears well in his eyes. Each and every nanoscopic mistake flashed before his eyes. Calvin put a hand on his shoulder. It was enough. It had to be. “I fucked it. Complete shit, Cal.”

“Mate, don’t worry about the bad shit.” Louis was forever grateful that Calvin didn’t urge him or try to prove that his performance was immaculate. No matter what length anyone took, no one could convince Louis. There was always something off. Nothing was perfect. No measurement or feat could change that. Same with physics. There was no way to make sure the numbers would be great no matter how perfect the formulas were. Louis slammed his head into his hands.  _ Fucking physics.  _

“Louis Tomlinson?” Louis perked at the voice, but didn’t lift his head from his hands. Embarrassment flooded through his system, and in a fury, Louis tucked his hands back under his thighs. Calvin tapped his shoulder.

“Meet you out front, Lou.” And with that, he was out the door with has case in hand. One sniffle and the owner of the voice placed himself where Calvin had been. An indeterminable force stopped the breath from escaping Louis’ mouth. Right in front of his eyes were leather Gucci loafers. A very familiar pair that happened to be coupled with grandpa trousers, a noticeable duo thanks to one man. Had Louis not been in the position he was now, he would have presumed it was someone’s grandfather sitting beside him. But, no, this… this was-

“First off, I would like to sincerely apologize for the confusion with the music. Had I been more conscientious, I would have made sure that never happened. And I hope that something like that will never happen again.” Here was Harry Styles sitting beside him,  _ apologizing  _ for something that he didn’t directly have any control over.

“‘S okay. I shouldn’t have made a cockup of it.” If Louis said his whole body wasn’t quivering or covered in goosebumps, he would be very much lying. He had never felt these kind of nerves  _ ever.  _

“No, what? No. Listen, I, um, I don’t know a lot about dance, but I do feel emotions whether some people believe that or not.” A bitter chuckle. “Sorry. But yeah. I felt the performance. You had this energy that only I could aspire to have.”

Every particle in the air was scalding. Or maybe it was just the blood rushing straight to Louis’ cheeks and neck. On a spur of the moment confidence boost, Louis lifted his head to finally see who was before him. And  _ fuck _ , a twenty-two year old was not supposed to look that good dressed like a grandfather. And his  _ hair.  _ It was finally growing back out, and Louis couldn’t be more thankful. “It’s not that impressive, but thank you.”

Harry chuckled, resting his hands on his knees. “That leads me to the second thing. Against what anyone might say on my team, I still get to make the executive decision here. And I want you to have this job.”

The need to pluck intensified by a thousand the moment those words passed his lips. Louis opened then closed his mouth, digging his fingertips into the side of his thighs. “Are you sure?”

“Massively. Truthfully, you were the only man that registered to audition. No matter what my team may process, I’ve envisioned a man visually portraying this part for  _ months.  _ This is my chance to have things go my way. I witness the way your body moves. That’s how I- it’s what I want.” Harry paused. “To visualize, that is. Please consider the offer?”

Most times, Louis would be quick on his feet to respond to someone about an audition. He didn’t waste time, yet here he was gaping at bloody Harry Styles because he couldn’t manage to process the information what was being thrown at him. There was a rasp and tremor in his voice when Louis finally had the stomach to answer. “Yes. I- yes. I would love to. Uh, thank you. Thank you so much.”

Louis knew he looked like a complete and utter knob right now, but how was one supposed to casually accept an offer from Harry Styles himself? On a fortunate note, the most gorgeous, awe-inspiring look appeared on his face. “Great! Great. I, um, I’ll make sure that you get all the information emailed to you as soon as possible. Thank you, really.”

In a futile attempt to see positive as possible, Louis presses his lips into a tight smile, standing to his feet. Harry did the same, clasping his hands in front of himself. Louis outstretched his hand for Harry to shake. With a quizzical look, Harry pulled him into a hug, sending a whoosh of air out of Louis’ body. He wondered what the displacement chart would look like… “No, thank you. This- this is unbelievable.”

Harry flashed him that fucking smile that made Louis’ knees feel like jello. “If this is going to work, you are going to have to learn to appreciate hugs instead of handshakes.”

And with that, Harry was off, gone into the sterile room of what Louis thought would be pure tragedy, but turned out to be  _ amorous.  _ Louis shook his head, heading towards the exit. No matter how enthusiastic or enthralled he was about working with Harry, a small little piece of fear masticated away at him. A shiver ran down his spine. This experience would be a shakingly devastating one at the same time.

_ Fucking physics, eyelashes, and music. _

 

-

 

“Calvin, I need a drink,” was the first thing to pass Louis’ mouth when he exited the building. To Calvin, the remark was rather austere, coming from Louis of all people, and Louis knew that. However, there wasn’t anything in sight holding him back from vomiting the words out. 

In the lifetime that Louis and Calvin were friends, there were two, and only two, times that Louis claimed he needed a drink (dancer lifestyle, yeah?). Those times were when Louis was a, very miserable and Calvin candidly did not want to induce anymore troublesome brawls so it was  _ always  _ a fight for the bottle, or b, very thrilled about a certain something in which Calvin said fuck it, and opens the bottle for Louis. In this newly fortunate circumstance, minus the stress ball chanting  _ pluck, pluck, pluck  _ in the back of Louis’ mind, this was the preeminent time to throw one back.

By throw one back, Louis meant sit on one end of the couch while Calvin sat on the other end, wine glasses empty on the table in front of them while Cal strummed some tune or shit. But it was friends like Calvin and moments like these for which Louis was most grateful. For someone so keen and so precise about the music, it was a blessing to have someone so understanding and so capable of making music be there for Louis. 

“How’s it going to work with classes and Harry?” Cal started packing his guitar up for the rest of the night. The consumed wine had all gone to Louis’ cheeks, leaving them a striking rosy color. A shrug, and Louis cozied up into the corner of the couch. 

“Think I got some cover for the week. Won’t be too bad. Learn the choreography, film it, the end. Not like I’m going to be gone for a month.” Just a week. One week of his life fully absorbed in impressing Harry even more with the way he moves. Harry hadn’t been lying when he said they would get an email to Louis as soon as possible about the details for the project.

“Unfortunate circumstance?” Has anyone else said that, it would be hellfire and the devil himself clawing his way out of Louis’ chest, but it was  _ Calvin.  _ In such a deliberate manner, Louis chuckled, tipping his head back. 

“Unfortunate circumstance.” If this was a sappy tale, Louis would have asked if “unfortunate circumstance” could be their “always”, but this was not sappy. Not even romantic. It was one of his best mates that categorically didn’t have interest in getting it up the arse or nearly doubling over at the beauty of the male species. 

“‘S going to be great, Lou. I know it.” Even when Louis disagreed, he nodded his confirmation. The angst and ambiguity swarmed his brain like moths to a flame. 

“Just wish I could have Jordan film.” There was a huff and Louis pulled his knees up to his chest as Calvin sat back down on the couch. “He’s not all-knowing like you. But he works with it.”

“After today, ‘m sure that someone is bound to be understanding about the music, yeah?” He was earnest, but Louis could see past the façade of hope and positivity. Again, Louis was thankful that Calvin could put on a brave face for him especially when he knew he couldn’t. However, Louis didn’t appreciate the diminutive lie that felt like a push pin pushing in to hang a photo onto cork, so he presumed. 

“Unless the stereo has a dial that doesn’t tell the precise level when you turn it.” Still, that gruesome fear of black and gray twirled like silk in the wind inside his head. He clutched the thinning fabric of his t-shirt in his hands. “Then I don’t think I can do it. Fuck, I should have thought more about this before agreeing to anything.”

A breath. “Listen, Louis. I keep my mouth shut more than enough, but you can’t let this get you for the rest of your life. You can’t let it hold you back from opportunities. You need- I don’t know, you need to talk to someone about this. Someone that hasn’t been a constant in your life. I hate seeing this break you down and make you feel so small, like you can’t accomplish anything. I want you to be able to do everything with confidence and surety, but right now, you can’t.”

It was pointless to argue. Even if Louis didn’t want to admit to his fault, he knew deep down past all the nagging and dark swirls, Calvin had a serious point. In contrast to the pinched look on Louis face, his voice was soft, almost childlike. “I know.” 

A diffident look washed over Calvin’s face. There was no use pressing further into the bruised subject, so he retracted. Louis on the other hand stood, defeated. Not because of Calvin, but in himself for not being able to fight whatever torment perpetrated his brain every waking second.  

“I think I’m going to sleep. Big week coming up and all.” An understanding nod from Calvin, and Louis was off to the small bathroom. Out of habit, he locked the door behind him promptly. With haste, he made way for brushing his teeth. One second backwards, one second forwards. There was no delay in the drag of bristles over each of his molars. As if it were a piece of paper in front of his eyes, he envisioned the displacement graph in all its glory. No plateaus, just simple clean cut diagonals. As if it were the easiest thing to do, which in the physics world it actually is, he translated the graph to velocity. Constant, no acceleration. Gorgeously straight, no flaws. There was no need to accelerate. Calm energy, the exact thing Louis relished in. 

A glance in the mirror and Louis halted, the graphs vanished and so did his breath. Resting right between the skin covering the lower part of the eye socket and lower eyelid was one singular eyelash. The toothbrush accelerated, completely wronging his entire routine. He felt dirty as he spat out the remains of toothpaste and washed out his mouth with water. But he couldn’t stop the want in his head from spreading to his stomach like a disease. Which it  _ was,  _ but Louis could barely admit that to himself. 

His fingers were full of frisson as he practically peeled the eyelash off his skin. Pure joy and delirium pumped through Louis veins once the baby hair was trapped between his index finger and thumb. It was almost like the lash was a prisoner that Louis wanted to keep captive forever. And in all honesty, if he could keep it detained for the rest of his life, he would. He would stop the world just to have this feeling course through his body.

Just when he thought the feeling was too much, he rolled the eyelash between his fingers. If his actions were neurotypical, he wouldn’t say this feeling is better than sex. But with everyone screaming confusion and endless “no’s” around him, he would never stand a chance against the world and his, and he hates the word,  _ fetish  _ as someone once so  _ lightly  _ put it. So here he is, whispering those words to himself, leaving more rational comparisons to be made by those who house a neurotypical brain. 

Louis slammed his hands down on the edge of the sink, knuckles turning white at just how tight he gripped the fake porcelain. Finally, oxygen managed to make its way back into his lungs. Unfortunately, that didn’t relieve any of the pressure or tension building up in each and every muscle concealed my skin covered in goosebumps and raised hairs.

“Are you okay?” It was Calvin outside the bathroom. Even if the man outside knew something was wrong, he would dismiss it long as Louis said  _ something. _

“Buzzin’.” It was customary. Anytime something wasn’t  _ okay _ , it was always buzzing. It was enough to get Calvin to drop the subject and retract back to his room. It was enough to give Louis time to escape the confinements of the bathroom and hole up in his bedroom. Alone. At last. 

Without even considering the level of morbidity and insanity, Louis threw himself on his bed (locking the door first, of course because he wouldn’t be able to sleep with it any other way), shucking his trackies off in a gawkish manner. There wasn’t much time in between him getting on the bed, and getting a hand on his semi-hard cock. If anyone were to ask what aroused him, he would have to lie and say something obscene. Saying that the texture of an eyelash rolling between your fingers was probably a one way ticket to a therapist.

Had Louis been in a different state of mind, he would have had the energy to fish the lube out of the bedside table drawer, but right now he felt pathetic. As if it were second nature, he took the hand off his cock and spit straight into it. Truthfully, he felt like a teenage boy masturbating for the first time, all dirty and careless. It felt like searing heat when his hand wrapped back around the shaft, coaxing it to full hardness. 

The only thing that distinguished Louis from a first timer was that he was  _ silent  _ even though he screamed in his mind for  _ more, more, more.  _ Years of practice, and it just was a natural thing to do. It was distressing how much precome bubbling from the slit. Mercifully, it was great help especially when Louis swiped his thumb over the head. The slick aided in the slight dry discomfort of his hand. 

He was embarrassingly flushed under all the attention and stupefying, yet so very delicious thoughts. The sensation of what happened in the bathroom still burning on his fingers, driving him fucking batty. If someone were to see the rate at which his hand was moving, they might think he had a very vivid image in his brain and wasn’t okay, which was partly true, but no one needed to know which part. Instead, he started thinking about the possible velocity that his own wrist was moving. 

The vein that stretched down the side of his cock pulsed wickedly against his palm. Sweat beaded along his hairline like tiny rain droplets on a windowpane. Everything was electrifying, on the brink of short circuiting. In a futile attempt to hold the the impending, galvanic orgasm clawing from his throat all the way down to his balls, he squeezed the base of his dick. That did make Louis emit a low whine, clenching his eyes shut. Anger boiled inside of him. He hated his never-ending desire to keep himself on the precipice of something so divine and the brutal postulations partying it up inside his head. 

He brushed his fingers up the length, only to result in him thumbing over the slit, finally too desperate and paltry to hold off any longer. The simple teasing of his thumb and a few speedy flicks of his wrist had him coming. Never before had Louis seen white when he came, but now he had. It was hot, startling, and tingling. When some sense had been regained, Louis realized his cock was soft against his thigh and his come was covering his abdomen where his shirt had ridden up, a lot more than he had even registered (in reference to the amount come  _ and  _ how high his shirt had ridden). Honestly, the path that his come shot out was a simple projectile motion problem. Some trigonometry and simple kinematics equations.

With a lack of vitality, surprisingly Louis still scrabbled for the box of tissues on the table, seizing a few to wipe up his jizz sloppily. Really, there was no care. There was no need to when what he had already done was so careless and crude. He gave in, and he couldn’t take it back. No matter what, he didn’t think he would ever be able to take back an orgasm that gratifying. 

On the other hand, he was rather pessimistic that he would never be able to wrest himself from the hands of  _ this.  _ He was stuck, and without the needed help, he would continue to fail into its unyielding grasp and barbarity. He let out a sigh as he struggled out of the t-shirt, tossing it to the floor once removed. And for a few moments he just lay there, naked and staring at the ceiling. A vast, yet contained space of seemingly endless possibility, almost like it was a dream, but in reality it was just a fucking ceiling that had no meaning whatsoever besides protecting Louis from whatever the outside word had to offer. 

After that, it was a fruitless attempt to keep his eyes open. He pushed down the duvet, crawling beneath it, hoping for some sort of extra protection. However, there was only warmth and weight covering his body. Nothing could protect him when everything that scared him was already so deep inside his conscious that it poked at his unconscious self like a pitiful sarcastic comment. 

Another sigh and Louis flipped over onto his stomach, hitching his leg up, practically having his knee hit him directly in the nipple. It was a perk and a downfall of being flexible. A perk because his body  _ could  _ do it, but a downfall because it’s the only way he could sleep with physical comfort. His right leg stretched out on the bed, toes curling into the sheets. One pillow lay parallel to him so he could wrap his around it, cuddling the material to his chest. Another lay underneath his head and the other behind him, against the edge of the bed. Had there been another arrangement, Louis would not be going to sleep anytime soon.

So Louis started to drift, limbs still aching from the nerve wrecking orgasm. His breaths were soft, and he thought to himself,  _ I can do this. _ Or at least that is what he thought until his brain managed to process what had happened in the seconds before his world turned into white heat. Thinking about it now made his cheeks flush something fierce. 

He may not have had a wank over a  _ future  _ job offer, but he sure as hell came recklessly over a current job. 

Because, of course, Harry Styles had to now become one of the thoughts in his disgustingly manifold amount of frustrating thoughts.


	2. Seventeen

[ Dark Blue - Jack's Mannequin ](https://open.spotify.com/track/3tZwKujD64Ad6vlDVxZOrg?si=hG0rPmRMTo-t7NC6_AT_jQ)

 

Two days after auditioning, Louis was already facing the studio to start choreography. However, due to unfortunate circumstances, and not his title from Calvin, there was no stopping the erotic, yet soft flow of images of the one Harry Styles in his mind. Had that not been that case, Louis would have only had to worry about the stereo today. But trying to focus on learning the work with the glowing Harry Styles behind his eyelids seemed near paradoxical.

It was like a smack in the face when Louis walked into the studio only to see that said face staring right at him, smiling with dimples and all. Against his better notion, he could just bolt now like Calvin had suggested in the beginning. 

“Hi, good morning.” It was too much sunshine and glorious waves of gold. The sunshine and gold disguised as a man dressed in athletic shorts, a black hoodie, and trainers, but the grotesque brightness still radiated proudly. 

“Morning.” Louis waved. It was peculiar, having anyone besides a choreographer in the room with him during these times. But speaking of choreographer… There wasn’t one. Instead, it was just Harry in all his glory, smiling like he didn’t know Louis jizzed over the thought of said smile. In reality, it was true that he didn’t know, but Louis felt like Harry could read past the ugly façade.

“I realize this may be atypical.” That had Louis nearly doubling over in laughter because Louis  _ was  _ anything but typical. However, with great strength, he pulled himself from the pit of self deprecation and nodded, setting his bag and obnoxiously large water jug down on the ground. “But we don’t have a choreographer.”

Either Louis was being irrational or this was new protocol in the world of pop stars and glam. “What do you…? I can just come back some other time when you have one, or when he or she arrives, yeah? I don’t mind waiting about if need be.”

Harry spluttered, shaking his head, his arms making so ridiculous motion in which Louis had to hold back a snort. Eloquence in movement was definitely not Harry’s thing. “No! I mean, we kind of have a choreographer. You just have to agree to it.”

Suddenly the pleasant temperature of the room skyrocketed. The fiery air scared Louis’ neck red, or maybe it was just the sweltering heat of his insides thrashing about in sheer terror. “Pardon?”

“You already have a minute and a half of the song choreographed. I want you to do the rest.” There was this hopeful look glazed over Harry’s eyes. Sure Louis had choreographed. Sure he had danced, obviously. However, he had never once in his life been asked to write the entire piece after an audition. Another physics problem scribbled out in his head as his heart rate jumped, his breath barely leaving his body. The dread throttled his neck insidiously.

“I-I can do that.” The most heavenly glow diffused from Harry. Louis wanted to lick his skin and see if it tasted just as sweet as his looked. In a stride to push away that hunger, Louis sat down on the floor, pressing the soles of his feet together. His hips opened, the outward facing parts of his knees just grazing the floor. 

“Terrific, wow. Okay, that was pretty easy. Thought you might not want to. It wasn’t really stated in the official statement.” The poor guy looked  _ nervous.  _ Again, at the most inopportune of times, Louis wanted to laugh because he himself was the nervous one. Harry had nothing to be worried about, yet here he was standing flush against the mirror, twiddling his fingers like a child facing his first day of school. Louis presses his knees down with his elbows so they were flat against the ground, pushing forward with his chest to his knees. 

“Not to be rude, but don’t you have prior obligations to uphold instead of being here with me?” Really, that could have come out a lot better. "It's just most of my, uh, employers don't have the time of day of actually interact with me like this."

“This is my obligation for the next week.” Confusion swept over Harry’s face as Louis stretched his legs out into a straddle. He leaned forward onto his elbows, resting his chin in his hands. His feet were flexed inside his trainers, but his legs were turned out. A ping of something went off inside Louis’ chest. “Unless you aren’t comfortable having guests while you work.”

“It’s alright, yeah? I don’t mind.” Louis was quick to respond, but stayed as calm and collected as he could given the circumstance. “It just might get a little boring, that’s all.”

“I don’t get bored easily.” Harry crouched down, falling back onto his hands, knees bent up in front of him. “And if I do, I’m sure I can come up with something to entertain myself.”

That made Louis smile which he quickly turned to face the ground. The stretching continued for another ten minutes, making sure he was thoroughly warmed up. Stretching was followed by few laps around the tiny studio just to get the blood flowing and heart pumping. Due to the morning chug of water, Louis excused himself for a wee. He returned feeling lighter than he had in a while. Perhaps his angst flushed down the toilet as well.

For the first half hour, Louis went over all the work he already head. It wasn’t just a time to clean the way his body looked, but it gave him time to perfect that way his body  _ felt  _ during the performance. An inhale here, an exhale there. It gave his performance more dynamic character than just whatever static appearance it gave off. Harry watched in awe, genuinely enthralled by what was going on, and Louis tried not to smirk at that. Another trip to the bathroom, and Louis was ready to start.

So when the time came to play the music to form new ideas and skills, Louis had forgotten about the possibility of the dial on the stereo not being the type he desperately craved. The angst and paranoia jolted Louis back to his reality. Of course, the perfection of the past forty-five minutes couldn’t last him a lifetime. Now it was time to crash down in a thunderous uproar.

“Harry?” That got a flick of the head from the man sitting on the floor. “Do you know if this stereo has Bluetooth?”

Harry was quick to his feet, examining the system. “‘Fraid not. It’s pretty old school. I, um, I do have the track on a disc though.” 

Louis was caught between a smile and a breakdown. A smile for Harry’s nerves at having a fucking CD and a breakdown for the lack of Bluetooth which made things way more complicated than they need to be. But he had to persevere. If he wanted to keep this job, he would have to fight for it. And he would. 

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s good. Could you start it up for me? I need a good listen before doing anything.” And that Harry did. A few clicks echoed throughout the room and the opening bars spewed out. A shockwave of negative emotions trickled down his spine. 

Louis turned to face away from Harry, eyes clenched shut, trying to focus on something, anything. The sound of the notes became a blur as the number seventeen encompassed Louis like death itself.  _ Seventeen, seventeen, seventeen,  _ the Reaper chanted devilishly. The number circled him in writing and the numerical form. He didn’t know. There was no way of knowing, and it was eating him alive because all he could think of was the number seventeen.

A choked sob passed Louis’ lips and he sank to his knees on the marley floor beneath him. The coolness of it was the only minor bit of comfort he had in the swarming heat of seventeen. A warm blossomed right below his sternum. Bile felt like it was coming up his throat. 

And then it all stopped. No more chanting. It meant the music had stopped. Everything was oddly calm. He swiveled on his knees to face Harry. 

“Are you okay?” Louis raised a brow, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. 

“Yeah, why?” It came out more bitter than he intended. He bit his tongue, hoping it would kick some polite sense into himself.

Harry gestured towards him and then to the mirror. “You’re a little red in the face. And you’re on the ground.”

A deep breath. How would he pull this one off? “Oh, uh, yeah! When I think really hard, I get super heated. No big deal. It’s comforting to be on the ground, yeah?”

He was probably being a little too over-enthusiastic based off the rather skeptical look thrown his way. But thankfully, he wasn’t directly questioned over his behavior. For that, he thanked whatever spirit or otherworldly being protected him in that moment. Maybe the physics gods!

“You can start the music again.” His voice may have sounded weary, but he hoped that the plastered on smile would deflect from his change in tone. 

There was hesitance in Harry’s fingers as they hovered over the play button, but a quick nod from Louis as he stood to his feet made him press it. Just as the sound erupted into the air, the number seventeen flashed before his eyes. It was a brawl to let more air enter his lungs. As the sixteenth count hit, the number seventeen buzzed even louder than it had the first time. The ache and pitch was so immensely discomforting that Louis missed the beat, just standing there. His back was to Harry, and no force felt like it could turn him around or start. The impending tsunami thrashed and tugged and broke over the rim of Louis’ eyes. Without even realizing it, his feet were moving towards the exit, his mouth moving a mile a minute to gush out some sort of excuse to Harry.

It took a minute to fully process that he was now sitting in a chair outside the room he had just been in. It was comfy, new model that didn’t make squealing noises that stabbed Louis like a beast. Instead, most of his head was full of silence except for the muted echo of  _ seventeen  _ at the very back and bottom of his skull. The main issue was his physical self. A thin sheen of sweat covered his entire body, and it was not from dancing. He hadn’t even danced for fuck’s sake. His shoulder blades felt pinched together, holding him high and alert for any new beat. Worst of all, it hurt to inhale and exhale. It felt like someone was strangling his diaphragm and lungs to the point where the muscles could no longer expand or contract.

“Louis?” It was Harry, of course. He sounded unsure; unsure as to whether or not Louis needed someone in that moment. And in all honesty, Louis had no idea if he wanted some  kind of comfort because he didn’t know if it would _be_ comforting.

“I’m okay. It’s okay. Everything’s buzzin’.” It was an abject lie, one that Harry definitely wouldn’t be able to see, yet here he was saying it anyway. He didn’t want pity ever, but that’s usually what he got in return and abhorred it.

“It’s not really my place, but you aren’t okay.” Harry was so close to him now, standing directly in front of where he was curled in the chair. Louis looked up, rubbing the pad of his thumb underneath his eyes. He was sure he looked like something straight out of a demonic, paranormal flick, eyes all fucked up and whatnot.

“‘S just, I’ve made a rather shit first impression, yeah?” Louis let out a watery chuckle, untangling his legs so his feet were pressed flat against the floor. Harry gave a shrug and an audacious smile.

“Pretty sure this is a second impression. First impression blew me away. I think you are outstanding.” That… That made Louis’ heart melt just a tiny, tiny bit. He would never have the stomach to say those words out loud, but he kept chanting them inside his head, feeling the sensation of warm syrup dripping down his insides.

“I should have told you,” was what Louis opted to say. Maybe he would have to stomach to open up about this, though. “I should have told you how I am.”

“How about an early lunch, and you tell me all about it?” It was a genuine offer, and it did bring a infinitesimal amount of comfort and hope to his nearly decrepit chest. It also brought a bit of a smile and radiance, or at least Louis hoped, to his face. In all his time doing this, no one had ever proposed that Louis tell them what was wrong. Now, he was going to open up about his atypical self. Despite the tinge of fear pumping through his veins, he nodded.

“It’s… a lot.” His voice was soft, practically a whisper, but Harry seemed thoroughly intrigued. He was unfeigned by the entirety of it. “I’m being very unprofessional right now by not getting my work done.” 

“I think this is a very important level of professionalism, actually. Opening up that is.” Harry buried his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, kicking his head against the tile floor. His eyes still didn’t leave Louis. Louis felt, he felt salient. “Getting to know the people you work with on such a personal level is the epitome of trust and willingness to cooperate and mix effectively in the work environment.”

Louis stared at him, stunned by the utmost intelligence before him, only at the age of twenty-two. Maybe if every human on the face of this earth had the same disposition and attitude as Harry, things would be smooth and  _ bearable.  _ “I like the way you think.”

In that moment, Louis felt like hitting himself over his head at his comment. However, the heart stopping  _ giggle  _ that passed Harry’s lips was enough to make Louis want to shout out his comment again, all chipper. “Tell me what you want, we can get it delivered here. And you can tell me everything.” 

Everything in Louis’ mind was a lot more than the everything that was probably floating around Harry’s pretty little head. He shook his head laughing. 

Today would just be a start, and hopefully a betterment in Louis’ health. 

 

-

 

Louis fought with Harry for a solid five minutes over paying for his own sandwich. Because, really, it was a fucking sandwich and it wasn’t like Louis didn’t have money. He had more than most people realized, he believed. A lot of people would be surprised at the cut check he gets at the end of certain projects. In the least egotistical manner as Louis could, he was good at his job, and he got it done in a timely, effective manner which always pleased the people with whom he worked. 

So again, Louis finally got away with slipping a tenner into Harry’s hoodie pocket even if it got a ludicrous eye roll from Harry himself. Now the were sprawled out on the marley, a complete disdain to any dancer or instructor alike, but truthfully, Louis didn’t give two shits. A rough day meant bending the rules a little, or quite a lot depending on how one looked at it. 

“So, tell me about the mind of Louis Tomlinson.” And Louis was then snapped from his thoughts of eating on the dance floor and redirected to Harry’s grinning face. Louis crossed his legs at his ankles.

“Let me just begin with this being the strangest thing I’ve ever done. I’m talking to Harry bloody Styles. About my head.” He took a bite of his sandwich, licking at the corner of his lips afterwards. 

“You say it like it’s a  _ bad  _ thing.” Harry shifted so he was sitting with his legs criss-crossed, leaning back onto his hands for some kind of support. “Professionalism, Louis.”

“Yeah, yeah. But like, you’re Harry Styles, and I’m Louis.” Okay, maybe it did sound a little negative and awkward when he said it like that, but there was still truth behind it. Louis may have a higher title within the dance community, but he definitely wasn’t some kind of a-list dancer especially in comparison to the fucking sensation sitting beside him.

“‘M just Harry. Just because people know my name, doesn’t make me any less human or more superior in skill or grandeur than anyone else.” It kind of angered Louis how selfless and true Harry was. He was so sure of it, and all of Louis’ body throbbed with envy. “Now, please, tell me what’s going on.”

So Louis did. Except, he didn’t tell him everything that constantly and consistently racked Louis’ brain like it was utterly useless and had nothing better to do. There was a hefty dash of confusion hovering all around Louis’ skin. It was strange how  _ easy  _ it was to let it out. It surprisingly made him feel so light, almost free from any chains or locks. What through him through a loop more than anything, it was easier to open up to Harry then it was Calvin. The only possible logical explanation was Harry was pretty much a stranger, and didn’t live day to day life with Louis. On the other hand, Calvin had to live his life surrounded by the terror and frustration called Louis’ mind and unfortunate circumstance.

“So, it’s a volume thing. It’s classified as a type of OCD with numbers. It’s not that I just don’t like the numbers, but I genuinely become so consumed by it, that I do what I did earlier. I meltdown, and it’s ridiculously hard to stop from happening.” By now, Louis had moved to lay down on his stomach, head propped in his hands.

There was a moment of processing, silence on Harry’s end. “But how did you know the numbers weren’t correct when the song was playing earlier?”

“That’s the point. I didn’t know, and all I could think of was it being wrong. All the wrong numbers, really just seventeen at that point, kept flashing in my mind. With a dial like that, one that doesn’t tell the exact volume, I will never know, and that sometimes makes things worse than when I do know. One because I don’t know, and two, I can’t stop thinking about it because no matter what I change it to, it will always be wrong in my head, yeah?” Louis sighed, discomfort pulsing in his ribs against the firmness of the floor. “That’s why I asked for Bluetooth because I can control the volume from my phone, and I will know the level that way. I know it’s strange.”

“I don’t think anything is strange Louis.” Harry shrugged, pushing himself up to sit on his knees. “You are Louis. This is who you were meant to be, even if it’s stressful and consuming. You only think something is “strange” because you don’t live a lifestyle like your own.”

A quizzical look passed over Louis’ face, and he knew this because Harry laughed, lightheartedly of course. So Louis sat up fully, hands clasped tightly in his lap. Despite the bubbly feeling of consternation, he was overcome with a more prominent wave of relief that genuinely made him smile. “You, Harry, are fucking clever. We need more of you on this Earth.”

That got a shy shrug in response. He was like this fluffy kitten, all timid and fearful yet so sure and strong, and Louis just wanted to wrap him up and thank him endlessly for listening. Harry, then, gathered up all their trash and took it over to the bin. Really, Louis was flabbergasted by the man that was Harry Styles.

“So tell me, what’s your biggest fear?” Most people might assume what Louis’ fear was because of the little ticks that through him into a pit of gargling fire. Although, those things set him on an edge like nothing else, he wouldn’t really classify them as fears. All his fears were rather irrational if you asked someone else. His phobias were also of a different kind because yes, he had a definitive line between fears and phobias. 

“Well, my biggest  _ fear  _ would have to be drowning from the inside.” That sparked Harry’s interest when he turned back to Louis. He leaned up against the mirror, arms folding over his chest. “I consume a lot of water, and I feel like one day I might lose all control of my consumption and it will happen. I know it takes a lot, but it still frightens me.”

“So you weren’t just running away from me earlier? You really did just need a wee?” Harry was grinning like a child that just got handed a lolly. Louis snorted, perching himself on the balls of his feet as he crouched, arms resting on his knees.

“Genuinely just needed a wee, Harry.” It was nice that Harry wasn’t concerned by the abnormality of his fear, but rather focused on the fact that Louis always seemed to be in the need of a wee more than the average human being. “However, my biggest  _ phobia  _ would be, like, construction cranes. Or wrists. Or elbows.”

This time Harry did quirk a brow, mouth tugging at the corner so only one dimple showed. If Louis could reduced his size a singular millimeter, he would automatically claim real estate in that very dimple. “Do explain. I’m rather intrigued.”

“Okay, so, cranes? I don’t really have an explanation besides I get this insanely heavy feeling in my chest, almost like a brick. That’s the thing with phobias. They are innate, and you don’t have a point as to why they make you fearful, but they do.” Louis pushed himself up to standing. “So with wrists and elbows, I can’t touch them or have them touch me because it makes me nauseous. It’s really frustrating, but I manage.”

“Is it insensitive for me to say that that’s cool?” Harry titled his head, the little curls on his forehead sweeping gently against his skin. Louis’ neck flushed at that, dropping down into a deep grand second, his quads bulging through the spandex material of his dance tights.

“I think you are quite alright, yeah?” Louis straightened his legs, pushing his chest in between his legs, letting his head drop, releasing all the tension in his body to the ground. At a leisurely tempo, Louis swayed back forth without bending his legs, giving himself a moment to warm up his hips once more. “What about your biggest fear?”

“I’d say mine is-,” and as if Louis’ life had turned into one of those cliché drama films, Harry’s phone rang. From his dangling position, Louis cocked his head upwards to glance at Harry. He was met with an apologetic look. “I have to take this one. I’ll be right back.”

For Louis it wasn’t that big of a deal, a little extra warm up time before stepping back into the groove of dancing. And from Harry’s graceful understanding, he wouldn’t have to worry about playing the music for the rest of the time the studio was theirs. However, judging from the look on Harry’s face, this wasn’t something he wanted to do, but rather a tedious obligation. And for an unknown reason, that added an overwrought feeling to his chest. Along with the terrible heaviness, the urge to pick at his eyelashes. He dug his blunt nails into the meat of his thighs, giving it his all to not cave.

Candidly, it felt like a year and a day waiting for Harry to come back. With a lack of better judgement given the one week time constraints, Louis started fucking about. Just a couple lazy turns here and there. A few outlandish gestures of the hands and legs, body covering up as much space as it could. So with little to no surprise, Harry returned when he was mucking about so outrageously stupid. 

“Golden. I think we have the dance for the video.” Pure sarcasm dripped from his voice. A lovely red painted itself on Louis’ neck and cheeks at Harry’s comment. At the same time, it was also repulsively amusing.

“People will be so invested in your voice, I can prance about as I please.” Louis grinned, moving to the left back corner of the studio. The melody of the track filled his head, slowly morphing himself into the character he dangerously chased after.

“As long as you keep the emotion I saw the other day, I’m quite alright getting to see you dance around.” Harry placed himself back against the mirror, pocketing his cellphone. And on the sixteenth count Louis dropped into the safety once more. However, this time when he flicked his head up, his eyes met Harry’s.

They smiled at each other just before Louis stretched out on his back. He paused a beat longer than the original performance, eyes on the ceiling. A vast expanse just as it had been in his room the night before. But this time it was like a dream, a proper one. 

A dream that had been held in for so long, finally blossoming to life, providing even just a sliver of warmth to the never ending black churn.

 

-

 

“Fucking hell.” Those were the first words that left Louis’ mouth when he entered his and Cal’s flat later that afternoon. Right before him on the couch was Calvin and Jordan chatting shit, beer bottles in hand. 

It had been a rather strenuous rest of the day, Louis fighting to start conversation and focus on his art. Despite the lack of music, he mustered something up inside his head. Although it wasn’t the beautiful exquisiteness that he desired, it was something to get him by. Before the two left the studio, Harry promised to bring a speaker the following day that wouldn’t make Louis’ brain explode into a childish tantrum full of machetes and firebombs. 

“Mate, not to be that guy, but you look like shit.” It was Jordan. That got a sardonic smile from Louis and he threw his bag down, flopping himself between the two sitting men. 

“It’s that unfortunate circumstance he’s got.” Calvin teased, slinging his arm around Louis’ shoulders. And truthfully, Louis felt see serene that the offhanded comments didn’t drive him up the wall. 

“Yeah, that. And try having a meltdown in front of Harry Styles, and then him letting you spill your brain into his lap.” Louis leaned back into Cal’s arm, closing his eyes, the exhaustion officially consuming Louis.

The comment, however, got both Jordan and Calvin to perk up, curiosity in their eyes. Calvin spoke first. “You spoke to someone else about this?”

“How did he take it?” That was Jordan and Louis pushed himself up straight, eyes open now. He could make some deliberate physics related comment, but, in a kind-hearted manner, he decided against it. A smirk appeared on his face. 

“I did talk to Harry, and  _ he  _ was the one that initiated the conversation talking about professionalism and getting to know the people you work with.” Louis inhaled, lacing his fingers together in his lap. “He was really respectful about it, and I actually felt confident about this job.”

A string of praise came from the men on either side of him. Louis was almost flustered by all the positive attention and glorification of his confidence and surety of himself in opening up. His entire body felt electric. He felt like one hundred twenty volts coursed through his veins, enough to allow an entire house to function. With a playful punch to each of their shoulders, Louis stood.

“Need a shower. ‘M feeling pretty gross.” But before he could escape further questioning, Calvin places a hand on his forearm, giving him another one of  _ those  _ looks; a look that only Louis knew the answer to. Louis smiled, shuffling out of the room, leaving the atrocious banter to the other two. But Jordan called out after him, teasing, it was evident.

“Let me know if you need any shots of this. I’d be more than willing to capture some moments of you… and Harry!” Louis rolled his eyes, answering with laughter.

It was a feat to peel of the tights and pull them over his feet. If Louis were asked his least favorite part about the dance career, it just might be this exact thing. Forget about dancer’s feet, sore muscles, the sweat, and tears. For the most part those minuscule details were already set in stone when you entered the world of dance. Those were the things you knew you were signing up for. However, as an impressionable child, you didn’t know that this would be the strict attire for the rest of your career. He sighed, finally tugging the material over his heels, letting it fall to the floor with the mess of his sweatshirt and t-shirt. 

From the age of three to the age of eleven, Louis never wanted anything to do with cold water whether it be a swimming pool or a shower. By the time twelve rolled around, Louis rehearsed five out of seven days of the week. And five out of five of those days, Louis abused himself with cold shower after cold shower. For the longest time, it almost frightened his family how invested he was with the length of his showers. However, Louis was ashamed to admit later down the road that is was equivalent to punishment because he didn’t realize that it was okay to find boys attractive. Roughly a year later, after some rather eye opening experiences, Louis came to terms with who he was and came out with surprisingly (praise all that just might be holy in this not so pure and serene earth) no hassle. 

But on another note, the cold showers remained a constant. And quite frankly, if he didn’t have his shower appropriately cold, he turned into the world’s biggest brat, and Calvin wasn’t afraid to call him out on his dickheadedness. 

Something that devoured Louis with such strength and vigor was his hair problem. Due to yet another unfortunate circumstance, one totally polar from physics, Louis grew his hair out a little bit. It was easier to grasp. 

So here he was now, standing underneath the chilling spray of water, breathing erratic. His fingers twitched for  _ something.  _ Unfortunately, again, he couldn’t resist the poking desire to grasp the wet hair in his fist and slowly pull. Louis had to bite his tongue to stop himself from wondering the force at which his hand tugged and the friction of his hand against the chunk of hair. 

It would be an understatement to say that Louis was agitated when not one strand of hair was plucked from the top of his head. He almost became manic in his ways, fisting the top of his head until… until…

Finally, one singular strand broke of into his grip. Had someone been watching him in that instant, the gratifying smile that appear on his mouth might have been compared to that of the Joker’s, and he would have been taken in for an immediate psych evaluation. But it was much more than that. Louis was all there, but parts of him couldn’t resist the simplistic and rather sadistic temptation of putting himself through this pain. Although there wasn’t always immense physical evidence behind the pain, his head carried the burden, the dark haziness flaunting each infliction about like a trophy. 

Then the smile broke, a heart wrenching frown and glazed over eyes took over his face. He held his hand out, letting the water pound down on it, washing the singular strand away. He watched pitifully as it swirled away with the water, his heart feeling like it was being pulled by that hair down the drain. 

In that moment, he fearfully hated his head more than anything. Of course the positivity of the day following his breakdown was too good to be true. It was essentially unreal. It was like no matter how hard he tried to better himself, the power inside his mind was more than the physical strength and coping. His mind versus himself was like a fight between a mouse and a snake, and Louis was the mouse. Tiny, fearful, quick, but not quick enough to escape the venomous bite and air restricting squeeze of whatever possessed his brain. 

No matter how brilliant Harry took the explanation, Louis knew he didn’t understand. It was that easy, it never would be that easy. In the moment he was blindsided, and now he was facing the consequences. 

No one, not even himself, would fully understand why. No one would ever be left on the brink of melting anytime one nanoscopic detail clicked to life. No one should be able to handle this, no one should  _ have  _ to deal with this. 

No one understood, but he pleaded that they would try to figure him out. 

Maybe that person would be Harry Styles. 

 

-

 

Louis showed up at the studio the following morning, a beanie on his head to cover up the mess he had made twirling sections of it through the night. His shoulders dropped when he saw that Harry wasn’t at his place in front of the mirror to give him a cheery good morning and fresh baked smile. This was Harry Styles, he had a schedule of his own, even if he did say this was his obligation for the week. Things change, and Louis of all people should be more conscientious of change. 

So in a desperate attempt to distract himself from the rather disappointing absence, he started stretching immediately. Louis’ face morphed into something between the lines of discomfort and agony, but immediately followed that was a wave of relief. Again, in an attempt to keep distracted from whatever could make his day perish dreadfully, he moved on.

His head was hanging between his legs, butt in the air, when Harry ran through the studio door. For someone of his physique he was rather out of breath. Today’s outfit was much similar to yesterday’s. However, this time his sweatshirt was a godforsaken tie-dye Astroworld one. Louis grinned at him upside from the position between his own legs. “What’s got you in such a rush?”

“Really? I’m late!” Harry, for the first time ever, looked like he might through a vat of gasoline towards him and light a match. Then a switch flicked and Harry smiled, moving over towards Louis. “But I came bearing an amazing idea.”

So Louis stood, pivoting to face Harry who was oddly close to him now. But that’s not what threw Louis through a loop the most. What did was the fact that Harry was breathtakingly, almost otherworldly pretty, and if Louis knew anything about himself at all, it was that he wanted to kiss Harry’s baby pink lips until they were swollen. Louis coughed, checking himself, the back of his neck feeling like it had turned into an ironing board, the iron pressed flat against him. 

“And what might that idea be?” It was a pathetic attempt to fill his head with curiosity instead of desire because in the long run, he was  _ curious  _ about the taste of Harry’s mouth against his. Would he still taste like toothpaste? Did he forget to brush his teeth in the rush of the morning? Did he like cinnamon? Bananas? What could it be?

“Okay, so I didn’t bring a stereo.” And then Louis’ world came crashing right down on him. The minor wall of distraction and confidence that he had built up within the past fifteen minutes crumbled like the crust of a shitty pie. In an all too fresh memory, the number seventeen clicked on like a one hundred watt light bulb, nearly blinding Louis in the process. The air surrounding him felt vandalized and sticky, and Louis just wanted to curl up in a ball.

“What the fuck? Are you-,” And Harry quite literally put a finger over Louis mouth. With every ounce of respect and restraint he could muster, Louis stopped himself from sucking the finger right into his mouth, ring and all. He couldn’t help that he wanted to know if the pretty boy tasted equally as pretty. 

“Louis, I didn’t bring the stereo because I thought long and hard about this last night. I want this to be able to work for you, and I think I might like this better than any other idea that has been pitched.” Confusion swept over Louis’ brow as Harry removed his finger from Louis’ lips, leaving a tingling feeling behind. He wondered how much force it would take for Harry’s fingers the choke him. Louis jolted himself. These godforsaken pretty boys and unfortunate circumstances did not make a pleasant combination. 

“You might want to inform me because you know how I get when something goes unknown. Uh, also, I didn’t mean to say fuck. Common word in my vocabulary, you know?” Harry straight up giggled! Louis didn’t know if he should be offended or thoroughly amused because  _ he  _ made Harry Styles make that noise. Harry just waved his hand about, honesty swimming about in his eyes. He leaned in, whispering something directly into Louis’ ear. 

At first his breath tickled against the sensitive skin rendering Louis a pile of uselessness because he couldn’t focus on anything but  _ that  _ sensation. Once he got a grip and  _ listened,  _ his lips curved upward, hands going to his hips. He leaned towards Harry’s ear, lowering his voice as well.

“Harry Styles, you are a genius.” Louis paused, letting out a breath. “I think I have someone who can help us.”

He darted over to his bag, rummaging about the side pocket for his phone. His fingers were shaking when he attempted to type out his message. The adrenaline was like a fire beneath him, pushing him to move faster and make this happen. 

**To:** Jordan

**From:** Louis

remember when you offered to shoot harry and me ??? is the offer still open ??

Louis looked up at Harry with a smile. “Let’s get started.”

And they did. The two of them spent the next three hours choreographing and talking details about the idea that Harry had. Both of them couldn’t stop smiling for the entire day, even when Louis needed to get into proper character. Quite frankly, this idea was the best thing that had ever happened to Louis. It benefited him as a performer and it benefited Harry and his own display of art, so real and raw. Most importantly, Louis felt safe from the wrath of his mind and troublesome, picky details that would typically torture Louis to a deluge of tears. 

Those three hours later, smiles still on their faces, they had it. It was perfect. No, it was far beyond the realm of perfection, and it settled the seemingly never ending ping of angst in Louis’ gut and the terrorizing spirals in his head. And despite the beading sweat on his forehead and neck, he pulled his loose, soft orange cable knit sweater over his head.

“So how much water do you drink to make you have to pee that much?” Harry jumped in, still sitting criss-cross style on the floor. He had his hands cozied up in the front pouch of his hoodie. Surely, he knew he was too pretty for his own good. Louis grinned, a sly one, slinging his bag over his shoulder. 

“It’s all about a lot, in a short period of time, and waiting at least two hours, yeah? I drink a liter every morning.” He squat down in front of Harry, knees cracking vilely. A hasty wince and Louis leaned his elbows on his quads. “Two hours to hydrate your body, expel of the rest, and be able to get on with your activity without collapsing.”

“Might have to think about that before my morning runs.” Louis have him a closed mouth smile, pressing up into standing again. He held his hand out for Harry, a small offer of kindness to help him up as well. He did, take it that is, jumping up to standing. 

“Keep it a steady increase to build tolerance in your bladder or it will be harder, okay?” Louis inhaled deeply, adjusting the strap on his shoulder. “Also, thank you for listening to me yesterday. I know you say it’s professional and what not, but I also have my version of professional from everything I’ve done. And this, this is refreshing. You aren’t the person that people make you out to be. I’m very thankful for this experience.”

Harry flushed underneath Louis’ words, face softening just enough for Louis to catch awareness of it. “‘M not the kind of person people say I am. They don’t know me the way that I let the people close to me know me. It’s not to say I don’t care about my fans, but some things are more… private and they need to stay that way. But I hope that this experience can turn into something m-.”

Louis jumped at the  _ ping  _ of his phone, grabbing it needily from the bag. A quick scan of the screen had Louis smiling, eyes darting up to Harry with a new level of eagerness. However, Louis didn’t miss the microscopic somber look on Harry’s face which was almost instantaneously replaced with bright eyes and a toothy grin. 

“He’s in.” Harry’s face  _ beamed  _ at those words. 

There was no way Louis would be able to quarantine his elation. Epinephrine flowed through his body like it was the only thing keeping him alive. This was going to be a risk, but definitely one worth taking. Harry was bending the rules, making them fit the exact mold that he wanted. In a sense, it was almost like a crime, a murder. 

And Louis got to happily play his part as an accessory in the grand scheme of it all. 

“Think we can do it in here tomorrow?” Louis readjusted the stretchy hair band atop his head. He gave Harry a reassuring nod.

“‘Course. As long as Jordan films from the mirror front, it’ll be fine.” A shaky hand combed through Harry’s hair, and Louis felt the radiating heat of nerves. He really didn’t have to feel it. It was beyond evident in the way Harry was acting now that they had finished for today. “I’ll make sure he is here right on time and makes this perfect for you.”

“I don’t want a fancy production, that’s the thing. I just want to sing, and I want you to dance. I don’t want anything more.” Harry was quick to the exit, back now facing Louis while Louis just stood there, heart racing. This felt oddly like one of those disgusting romantic flicks that he despised wholeheartedly yet they describe how he feels when he sees pretty boys. And right now, the world’s most pretty boy was before him. “I want raw and real. I want…”

He trailed off, turning over his shoulder, taking a deep breath. “Thank you for doing this for me. I’m really glad you accepted the offer and didn’t turn away my idea. It’s refreshing.”

“Harry, first off, I can’t just turn away ideas. You hired me, yeah?” The scary, near deadly acceleration of his heartbeat returned in that moment. It wasn’t just the fact that he was still cooling off, but suddenly the air itself felt  _ sweaty.  _ And Louis could go for a nice vomit. “And two, you are brilliant. Even if I had the power, I could never turn away something so lovely, my… issues set aside.”

“I’m- Thank you, truly.” The smile on Harry’s face was enough to distract Louis for the time being. He let go of the uneasiness and crushing weight smack dab in the middle of his chest, fighting to send him into some sort of rampage of mass destruction.

It would have to be enough because he didn’t even know why he needed a distraction in the first place.

 

-

 

Harry was very much objectively gorgeous. Anyone on the face of the earth could see it, so it didn’t come to much of a shock the following day when Harry looked  _ that  _ good. Louis was sure that Harry and Jordan both could hear the pitter patter of his erratic heartbeat echoing off the whitish walls. Of course Harry’s dumb fucking dimpled face looks amazing in black grandpa dress pants and a white undershirt with “treat people with kindness” stitched with black thread. And of course his fingers were littered with those dumb rings that made Louis made, and he really shouldn’t be.

At the first attempt, Louis was flustered, trying his damndest to keep his composure as Harry just sat there, singing and being fucking pretty. In the heat of it all, he did pull himself together, character and all. What did anger him is when Harry put a stupid camel cardigan over the shirt, hiding the black ink that had Louis licking his lips.

The morning had been a rough haze of snickering from Jordan, pulling Louis’ strings as gently as possible, just enough to make his heart skip a beat, and not too much to where Louis went off the deep end. He was courteous and professional with Harry, per usual. It’s something Louis was jealous of when it came to Jordan. He was effortlessly professional, but always knew how to make that time the most fun and thrilling for everyone. Had it not been for Louis’ undying torment of black and blue fighting to escape from the confinements of his head, he might be able to relate. However, for the most part, Louis was strict with getting the job done instead of making things as fun as they could be.

Here they were now, curled up in a reserved back booth at some fucking place Louis had never been to, but Harry said was quote, marvelous. Truthfully, Louis believed it was also because the place gave Harry immense comfort because now was the moment he would get to see the full video before it went out. Harry had the earbuds in his hands, there was a slight tremor which is very much valid because this was fucking risky.

Louis was paired up with Jordan opposite of Harry. There was hesitance written all over Harry’s body. It was scarily obvious, and he hoped, for the sake of  _ everything  _ that no one captured this moment on camera because that would ache and hurt Louis (and Harry, obviously) more than anything.

“I want you to watch it with me Louis.” And that, that surprised Louis. This entire thing was Harry. It was for Harry. It was about Harry. Every little detail screamed Harry, and this was supposed to be a moment for him to see what he wanted. “I wouldn’t have been able to do this without you. You brought the words to life.”

“I mean, are you sure?” Skepticism filled the air, and Louis gave Jordan a wondering glance.

“Mate, I just filmed it. But I think you should watch it.”

So Louis did. He moved from one side of the bench to the other, taking one bud from Harry. Again, and he wasn’t sure how much more he could take it, his heartbeat accelerating. It was an oddly intimate experience, sitting next to Harry, sharing earbuds. Due to the short length of the wire, they sat thighs touching. Louis was afraid that he might sweat through the material. Frankly, that would be one of the most disgusting things he could do and Harry might never speak to him again. But who was to say they would even stay in contact after this period?

It started with the sound of Harry’s foot tapping, the soft murmur of counts filling the air. The most satisfying feeling was hearing the first note leave his mouth, Louis’ entire body freezing at just how good the acoustics sounded through the bud. A surge of pride coursed through Louis when his body safetied to the ground effortlessly. It wasn’t necessarily a challenge to keep yourself quiet when any part of you hit the ground, but it was a wholly beautiful thing. 

And that’s when Louis saw it, the way his body moved across the floor, portraying this untitled character that matched Harry’s voice so fucking eloquently. Beside him, Harry was freakishly still. Not even his leg twitched against Louis’, making him want to press against him seeing if he would even budge at that. But he didn’t. He focused on the movement before him and the melodious tone of Harry’s voice in his ear.

It was genius, really. Harry performing acappella, Louis dancing around him like he owned the space and lived of each and every one of Harry’s words. If anyone didn’t know about both of them, they might presume that they had known each other forever. But in this reality, it was anything but that. This was next level professional that Louis had never experienced or seen before in his entire career. The two of them practically fed off of each other’s energy. And by the end, Louis was utterly speechless, his heart beating, brow sweating. It was so much more than he could have possibly asked for.

Any piece of doubt that ever crossed Louis’ mind about taking this job was long forgotten in this moment as he watched the screen turn black. Harry was still silent and still next to him. In an attempt to be sneaky, Louis glanced over only to be met with flushed cheeks, wet eyes, and a heartbreaking smile.

“We did that.” It was small and overly soft coming from Harry’s mouth, but Louis could hear the satisfaction and joy oozing out.

“Yeah, Harry. We did.”

Because this wasn’t just something beautiful. This was an act of defiance and identity. It was Harry establishing himself in the way that he wanted to be seen, and Louis would be forever grateful to take part in such an eye-opening experience. The only downfall would be leaving. After today, this would only be a vague memory and interaction with nothing more than a video to recall the mere three days they spent together.

Louis smiled, nonetheless, glancing over at Jordan. There was something written on his face, undetectable. As someone who liked to have a banging time, he was being unnaturally quiet which stirred something inside of Louis’ stomach that was on the far right of unpleasant. In the attempt to cool the boiling tremble of worry and uneasiness, Louis turned back to Harry.

He was beautiful, he really was. And his excitement was the only thing keeping him from falling off the edge of his seat, each organ in his body spasming ferociously.

“Thank you. Both of you. Thank you.” Louis jumped when Harry finally moved, earbud falling out of his ear in the midst of it all. Suddenly, the close proximity of their bodies was too much of a strain on Louis’ chest, and he shifted down the bench, ankles crossing in front of him.

“My pleasure. Love filming Louis. He’s great. And so are you. Fucking brilliant, honestly.” Louis let go of the breath in his lungs, thankful that Jordan could speak instead of him. Harry’s grin faltered, turning his head shyly.

Louis wanted to thank  _ Harry.  _ Harry deserved all the thanks. More than anyone that Louis knew because he brought this to life. He gave Louis the chance, and it was all Harry’s doing in making this happen. Instead of saying anything, Louis smiled over at Harry, ignoring the thrum of his heartbeat and the impending hurricane of darkness and despondency slowly being pumped into the base of his neck. It was almost like it was inflating his head, sending him away floating absently in space, unable to grasp onto what was real or not.

And it would have to be fine. Louis couldn’t worry himself about Harry because there were other things standing in front of the never ending unfortunate circumstance of his life and whatever muddy figures felt like bleeding him dry. 

There was another life outside the comfort of Harry’s unique professionalism and willingness of understand others and accept with open arms to the point where Louis wanted him to cut open his heart and burrow deep inside to protect him for eternity. Harry was the first to know, and he would be the first to leave. A burdensome ache blossomed angelically, deceivingly. To comprehend, it would be impossible for Louis was mad.

Positively mad. So very imperceptibly mad.

And there was no escaping the ever-consuming route his mind travelled, with or without Harry.


	3. Pluck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter had a very important scene to me. It was difficult to write, so please treat it with some kindness. It's the first time I have fully opened up about a certain topic that pertains to my life.

[ Signs - Harry Strange ](https://open.spotify.com/track/0NkL1Siud2QlboAlgleUcH?si=OY8yTdoTRLuhgF9N0nN11w)

**June 2018**

 

Sometimes working with kids and teens was the absolute downfall to Louis’ life. Despite his love for dance and making it an opening experience for other people, there was an attitude that infected the little shits that made Louis feel even more insane than he quite possibly was. They were typically snide or whiny and anything in the world sounded better than dealing with the fuckers for one more day.

Three weeks in and they were still asking about Harry. No, Harry hadn’t been part of Louis’ life since the video was put out the same night that they watched it. It did Louis’ head in trying to figure out how eight year olds had fucking phones to find videos and such. Calvin ended taking the brunt force of Louis’ anger and irritation, but it wasn’t anything different than how they had lived for two years. Truthfully, Calvin probably just tuned him out, but knew when to jump back into the conversation at the important bits, throwing out partially shit advice.

But Harry. He didn’t know what had happened to Harry once the video dropped. It was unexpected and out of nowhere. If Louis was going to be honest, he thought about it way more than he should, and he should truly think about something else. However, it was an unknown conversation or fight between Harry and his team which silently killed Louis even though he told Calvin that that was not the reason he was being much more of a knob as of late. He brushed it off as bratty students, took more cold showers, and plucked at his eyebrows more than he would let anyone know.

His own head did him in more than enough times to the point where he asked Calvin if he could join them on nights out. It was peculiar to say the least. At first, Calvin and Jordan had been skeptical of Louis’ knew path. Fortunately, in their own stupor, were able to keep control of whatever went into Louis’ system. And no matter how much Louis said he wanted to take shots, he never did because the impending wave of nausea and exploding rays of fear got to him before he could even make it to the bar itself. Instead, he opted for fucking white wine and sat pouting in the corner of a booth, unwilling to speak to anyone even though he wanted someone to simply ask if he was okay.

But Calvin and Jordan were smarter than that. They didn’t give into Louis’ antics. They did, however, watch him. They didn’t let him out of sight for the sake of their own sanity if Louis decided to take a sharp nose dive straight into the pool of chilling despair right at his feet.

“Don’t you think it would be fun to stay in tonight?” Calvin asked on an early Friday evening. It got a snort from Louis, him tucking his legs up under himself.

“Surely not. You guys are going to leave me to rot here while you are in Italy. I want to go out with a bang!” Which, of course, got an eye roll from Calvin.

“We asked if you wanted to come, and you said you couldn’t miss classes. Thought you wanted to get away from the little monsters anyway.” And, really, Cal wasn’t  _ wrong.  _ Louis complained horrifically about the kids, but he did love them. And they weren’t really the center of Louis’ current trauma and frustration. 

It was the one Harry Styles, face everywhere and name everywhere, that Louis somewhat consciously wanted to strangle but also kiss until he couldn’t breath which was pretty much the same thing if one thought about it.

“Yeah, yeah, fine.” Louis let out an undignified huff, reaching out to tap the string hanging from the pillow pressed against his side. It was a slow, steady sway almost hypnotizing. In the moment, Louis wished he had a ruler, a piece of paper, and pencil to make his own homemade physics problem. Despite the mesmerizing piece of thread, Louis felt like crying. He had tried endlessly over the last month to at least make this stop, and it wouldn’t. And it was possible that it might never end. Louis’ eyes jumped to Calvin’s face when he snapped his fingers next to Louis’ ear.

“Unfortunate circumstance?” And Louis was silent for a moment, Cal as well. There was a breath. “Or is there something more?”

It was almost traumatizing to admit everything that Louis was truly feeling. In some aspect, it was like his head was a completely different human and would know if Louis even mentioned one minor detail about what was going on up there. But, aside from the giddy fear, he knew he needed to say  _ something.  _ It was always  _ something.  _ Never anything definitive, just that little quivering slice of  _ something  _ to satisfy everyone else’s ears and hearts.

“I know I joke about, but I do give a shit about you, Lou.” But Louis already knew that. It was enough to crack him though,

“I’ve been uninspired and unenergetic since I performed with Harry. I don’t know what to do.” This was the first step to admitting… defeat? Maybe not defeat necessarily. It’s not that Louis couldn’t move on, it’s just he couldn’t perform in the same way that he had pre-Harry. There was something about the energy within that performance that couldn’t be matched in any other setting.

A sigh from Calvin. “I know he’s a popstar and big and all, but have you heard anything from him since that day?”

Louis shook his head, throwing his head onto the back of the couch. “And, like, here I was actually thinking it would work for me to open up to someone.”

The sheer stupidity of it all was quite possibly the one thing that ate up most of Louis’ time and lack of energy.

“Just because it doesn’t work with one person, doesn’t mean you are fucked forever, Lou. There is a lot good out there than you think. And I think that you need to give someone else a shot.” Calvin stood, arms over his chest. “You need someone to talk to. It’s gotten worse over this past month. I’m scared, honestly. I don’t want you to be gone when I return whether it be mentally or physically. We barely have you now, so what’s to say your head won’t be completely in by the time we return?”

That made Louis think. It wasn’t something that he had thoroughly considered. It’s not something he was thrilled on thinking about, but it was true. He didn’t want to just disappear, be washed away by the endless sets of waves and carried far and beyond the realm of reality. It was a void of unknowingness, something Louis quite literally would shake from thinking too long and hard about.

“Yeah, I know.”

At least he was admitting fault to that  _ something. _

 

-

 

A solid one day without Calvin or Jordan was already like some form of hell or purgatory that Louis was battling to escape. The day was blurred and for the most part, Louis stayed in bed barely able to give a care about anything. Soon enough, the silence was too loud for him to handle and he had to turn the music up on his phone. Of course he had to turn the volume completely down first then count the precise amount of seven clicks up. It was the perfect mixture of soft, but loud enough to block out any kind of unbearable silence that buzzing incessantly like a godforsaken bee in springtime.

Had the number seven appeared anywhere else besides the exact clicks on his phone, a tantrum might have broken out. But this was peaceful, the most serene he had felt all day. As a last resort of entertainment, he scrolled about his emails, a fuck all to see if there was any new information from his studio about upcoming auditions. While there wasn’t any email of that sort, there was a rather funny joke of  _ Harry Styles  _ flashing across the preview. Truly, in the dark plague of things, Louis could use a proper laugh. One click, and Louis went about reading, reading, and then,  _ what the fuck?  _ Louis nearly decked his phone straight across the room. Surely, truly, realistically there was no way that this was a  _ real  _ message. But further examination proved it was very much a real, honest message from the one man that had burdened the walking-on-eggshells topic splayed across the entire surface area of his brain.

It was a heady process of decoding even though the message was rather blunt. Essentially,  _ Milan, two days, dancing, Harry, and a phone number.  _ Harry! A phone number! Louis was going to laugh. He was going to go fucking manic. This was absolutely, positively not his life whatsoever. It was too movie-esque, and Louis felt rather perturbed and queasy. Anything would be better than a picturesque lifestyle with a popstar, but since the said popstar was Harry Styles, the one with the fuck me fingers and dumb green eyes, it was unsettlingly effulgent.

With shaky hands (and knees and lips and, well, everything) Louis dialled the number, hesitating before pressing the call button. There was a chain of three rings before someone picked up.

“Louis?” Just the sound of his name alone had Louis wanting to rub one out because, fuck, his name shouldn’t sound that good coming from someone’s mouth. It was so very unmistakably Harry.

“How did you get my number?” Louis never wanted to crawl into a hole more than he did the moment those words spewed from his mouth like lava from a volcano. But on the plus side, at least it got Harry to laugh.

“Got it back during the audition. Took a sneaky peak at your sheet. Out the window goes my dignified professionalism.” There was a pause while Louis snickered, but he could hear rustling in the background. “Sorry, had to move about. But, how are you?”

Louis was dumbstruck, flat out stunned. “Pardon?”

“‘Suppose this seems a little strange.” Harry’s voice seemed to wilt. Just barely, but Louis caught hold of it sending his heart rate shooting through the roof. 

“I would have contacted you sooner, but I got a lot of backlash from my team after the stunt I pulled. Despite the positive reactions from fans, management was thoroughly unimpressed with my actions.”

“Harry, I should be asking how  _ you  _ are.” That stressful hum reappeared in his chest, the one that was ever-present after his audition for the video.

“I’m fine, it’s all fine.” And if that wasn’t the biggest load of bullshit Louis had ever heard then he didn’t know what was. “But I want to do it again. I-I want me and you to do another video.”

“But I don’t need you getting in any more trouble than you are probably already in.” Louis pulled his legs up to his chest, leaning back onto his pillow. “I wish I could have done something to help when things went bad the first time ‘round.”

“I thrived off the adrenaline. I liked… I liked expressing myself the way I wanted to.” Harry paused again and Louis could hear his deep inhale. “If you are concerned about how this affect you and your career, I’ll make sure that this doesn’t get in the way. Whatever it takes. I just… You have the emotion and authenticity to do this. I think, I think the fans would like it.”

Louis bit down on his lip to hold back the smile that desperately wanted to form on his lips. Because of course Harry was more concerned about making sure Louis had his career instead of Harry himself. He scratched the back of his neck. “What were you thinking?”

Louis could hear the smile in Harry’s voice. “I want to do covers. And I want you to improv, maybe? Makes it super honest and real, and that’s what I want, yeah? It this one, if it goes well, would you maybe want to continue doing these?”

His heartbeat. The dark swirls. The ache in his chest. Each eyelash. Each strand of hair. The music. Everything. Everything was silent, still, practically nonexistent when Louis heard those words pass Harry’s lips.

“Yeah,” Louis breathed, not taking anything else into consideration besides the fact that Harry bloody Styles was asking to work on more projects with him.

“Really?” There was hope in Harry’s voice. So much fucking hope that it snapped Louis back into reality, everything hitting him full force like a rocket blasting into outer space. “And I know it may be too much to ask, but, um, do you think Jordan might be able to help again? I-I also wanted to know if your friend, the one that plays guitar, might want to play with me sometime? If it stays a thing?”

This was a lot. Way more than Louis had ever presumed would become of his rather bleak lifestyle, but fully enthusing time as a dancer. Harry Styles? Really?

“This seems all too cliché, but both of them are in Italy. Harry, I believe I’m near internal hysteria because this all seems way too coordinated and freakishly perfect, and I just don’t understand.” Louis laughed, fucking laughed, right on the line with Harry Styles who was so eager, so ready.

“When you need it, the good will find its way to your heart,” Harry murmured softly, almost like a secret. Definitely one that he wouldn’t let a single soul know. Him and Harry. Their little secret.

A delicate bloom of surreality materialized right over his heart. He was soft, so soft. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

One whispered secret, enough to calm the storm brewing inside Louis.

 

-

 

Being brutally honest, it was a fuckfest getting Jordan to Milan even though he was the one already in Italy. For fuck’s sake it was easier for Louis to get a partially last minute flight, or so he supposed, but the flight itself was all Harry’s doing. And he had no clue how long he had this idea stowed away in his mind. If Louis was being honest with himself, he should have been a little more courteous to Jordan’s schedule. The only problem about that was the name Harry rang in his ears like church bells, and Louis automatically gave the man precedent to anyone or anything else in his life.

He would just be in Milan for a day, him, Jordan, Calvin, and Harry. Harry promised to have a car waiting to take him along to the venue. It would be a bitch to make filming work before Harry had to escape for his show, but everything was worth a risk. Part of Louis was sitting on the edge of his seat, toes curling, legs bouncing, his heart beating idiosyncratically. The other half, or more leaning to just a quarter, was filled with smooth, caramel warmth and day-dreaminess, almost like a haze of I’m arse over tits for a really pretty boy.

If Louis was honest with himself once more, he was sure he would be on the precipice of losing his job at the studio if he calls in so last minute again. Furthermore, that brilliant three fourths of him radiated  _ this is trouble,  _ but of course the smaller slice shadowed over the impending doubt and rage and guilt being held back by a cracking dam. Now, that was unfortunate. Really bloody unfortunate for someone whose head was already only halfway screwed on and flooded with conviction after conviction.

On a positive note, Louis smiled, eyes crinkling and all, when he saw both Calvin and Jordan (as if he hadn’t seen them three days ago). Their car arrived after his did, so it was a bit of a fuck all until someone came. 

“When you said Harry had a venue for the shoot, I didn’t think you meant the fucking concert venue,” Jordan threw at him. He wasn’t angry or upset. Louis believed it was more shock at the willingness to do this so openly if it was supposed to be some sort of secret or stunt on Harry’s part. 

“Fuck’s sake. I had no idea either.” Louis bit down on his lip, thinking back to what Harry said about protecting his career even in things went awry.

“And we are supposed to be where at what time?” That was Calvin. “We did fuck off from what we were doing to do this for you.”

As if on cue, Louis’ phone pinged with a message from Harry reading,  _ Head around back, I’ll try to meet you to get you inside.  _

It was still early, early enough that standing in the shadows of the building was enough to keep Louis out of view. After his video with Harry, at least according to Harry himself and the monsters at his studio, people knew him. And that did put a lot more pressure on him, but it was fine. He was buzzing!

“Head ‘round back.” Louis paused, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. “Fuck I’m about to improv to a song I have never heard let alone acapella.”

Calvin tugged Louis by the elbow, already walking in what they hopefully presumed was where they needed to be. “As if you haven’t done that before.”

“But-.” There was no need for a but because Calvin was right. He had done improv to a countless amount of songs that he hadn’t heard. Maybe it was the little bit of edge and energy that he had to uphold compared to the last time he worked with Harry. What if Harry thought he was shit now? How was he supposed to live functionally if Harry didn’t think he was good enough now. 

In a self pleading attempt to make it all stop, he reach up, pinching his lashes between his fingers and tugging. That was only to have Calvin swat his hand.

“Fucking hell, Cal! I could have stabbed my eye out.” He might have been a touch overdramatic.

“Jesus, what’s going on?” Jordan turned over his shoulder, staring them down once they turned the corner around the side of the building. If anyone looked now, they would get called out for being fuckheads and escorted of the premises. And then no performance. Which meant sad Harry. Sad Harry meant sad Louis. Sad Louis meant shit hit the fan and the godforsaken black swirls with absolutely no empathy or remorse burrowed deeper and swallowed Louis whole. Or at least that is what Louis thought would happen.

“Louis thinks he’s going to fuck up. So tell him he’s good at what he does because I’m sick of seeing him tear himself down over these gigs.” Hands of exasperation were flying, and Louis stood there balancing on the edge of an escarpment.

“Mate, your fucking sick.” If anything, Jordan was always upfront and honest.

“Yeah,” Louis mumbled. “Sick in the head.”

“For fuck’s sake L- It’s Harry.” Next thing you know, Calvin is pointing past Louis’ shoulder. The speed at which Louis’ head snapped around could have very well been equivalent to that of a nanosecond. Then his feet were moving without it fully registering in his head, and before anything was processed at all, Harry was ushering him through the door.

Nothing in the physical realm around him really passed the point of understanding as he was off, leaving the three other men standing at the door, Calvin calling after him. That hot honey drip of lava coated his insides, a terrible pounding and clapping of thunder against his skull driving him positively made. The itch was there, and due to the rather ungodly circumstance of it all, Louis couldn’t bring himself to hold back the sparking urge.

He just appeared in a restroom tucked in the back of the theater, heart soaring like a bird, so fucking high. It was too much. His reflection was askew in his vision, but it didn’t matter as long as he could feel the pinch of his thumb and index finger as he plucked at the inner corner of his right eye’s lashes. At first nothing happened, and vexation bubbled high and mighty in his veins, driving him for more, driving him to cure the venomous itch. So he plucked, not stopping because the itch hurt more than anything.

Poisonous rays of dark sludge infiltrated the last sliver of peace and hope Louis had for the rest of the day. And then he could feel it, the slow relief of the itch. Clutched between the pads of his fingertips were two eyelashes, but it wasn’t enough. He struggled to tell himself to stop, but he was no longer in control of what happened. The caliginous mist of fret danced along every muscle and bone and fiber, not giving him a break. His fingers went back, plucking, plucking, plucking.

The lip of the sink in front of his was home to Louis firewood stack of eyelashes, some kind of unruly pride surging through him. That was a fault, a mask wonderfully handcrafted by the mist consuming all the good left inside of him. If Louis could actually feel the sorrow behind it, or at least allow it to be visible during his actions, maybe things would be better. But now his eye just ached. It pulsed and throbbed, immeasurable pressure building up behind the socket. With positively no remorse, he used his pinky finger to drag each lash along, counting them as he went. Maybe if he got more than last time, there would be some sort of reprieve like a Fiji spa holiday, but it was highly unlikely.

One, two, three four… It was like an earthquake rocked Louis skin, sending it aflame with goosebumps. Despite the disheartening feeling of pleasure striking like a match in his belly, he smiled. It was beautiful. What a beautiful sight. But his mind wasn’t Louis’. It belonged to someone else, something else. And then, and then-

“Louis, what’s happening?” Frightened, Louis looked up into the mirror, Harry just standing in the doorway. Thankfully, the door was closed.

“I was…” Nothing more could come from Louis’ mouth because reality struck him in the face so brutally that he almost twitched from the mental agony alone. Unalloyed embarrassment matured right in his chest, the dam breaking and flooding every single crevice of his body. Some of it even escaped his inner self, dripping out in a bead of sweat on his brow and some ghastly noise from his mouth as a mixture between a sigh and a cough. The throb and burn of his right eye so tangible when the tears started to drain from the corners of his eyes. He was quick to wipe them away, but the burn was still there, the skin so tender and even more sensitive than a newborn baby, presumably.

“Let’s talk about this, yeah?” Harry was gentle, too kind for Louis right now. He needed someone to be firm and tell him  _ no.  _ This wasn’t okay, he wasn’t okay. He needed someone to talk some sense into him, not baby him to admit the truth and all his faults and corruptions because that list was so endless, a burden pinned to his back like Luther’s  _ Ninety five Theses.  _

In an attempt to hide the already visible mess, he swiped his hand over it, sending the lashes to who knows where. Hopefully they could turn into little wishes and beautiful breaths for deserving people out there. Louis turned to Harry, eyes swollen, moreso his right one, a plastered on watery smile. “There isn’t anything to talk about.”

With an approximate velocity of one meter per second, (a necessary physics matter because he was unfortunate, this whole day had turned into something rather unfortunate) Louis bolted past Harry, hoping his feet could subconsciously lead him back to Calvin and Jordan. He needed affirmations from them, something strong, almost angry because he deserved to have people be angry at him.

His breath caught in his throat as he tracked down the halls. Harry had looked so confused and somber and worried. But that’s not what Louis needed. He needed hot, scalding frustration spat in his face. And without even knowing what was going on, Louis landed himself back behind the stage, Calvin and Jordan fucking about on a bench.

When they saw Louis, they looked like they were about to speak, but immediately shut down which was abnormal, and Louis almost wanted them to get snippy at him. Harry had to have been close behind because his voice was uncomfortably close a mere two seconds later.

“We don’t have much time,” Harry said. Louis’ breath caught again. “One shot, and that’s it.”

Calvin gave him one of those looks, a special one, one that made Louis shrug in response. Like Harry said, there wasn’t much time, but that was taken a lot more ways in Louis’ head than what was intended. 

Both Jordan and Calvin stayed quiet, following Harry up onto the stage, Louis coming in last. His heart was still racing, mind on a speedy track of pure nothingness, yet fatal existence rendering Louis utterly distressed. He cracked his knuckles before finally removing his bag from his shoulder.

It was time to dance. No time for disappointment.

 

Then there was Harry, perched on a wooden stool mid right stage. Louis’ chest was heaving already even as he stood at a forty five angle to the nonexistent audience, just Jordan and Calvin. Harry did tap them in, soft enough just for the two of them, only them. Louis tested the waters when the first words left Harry’s mouth, just taking three solid steps backward. It was an undemanding way of letting people know his presence without doing much and learn the music.

Then he pivoted, arms locking in firm at his sides, hands in fists. There was almost an uneasy pause as Louis glanced from his peripheral to see Calvin. His arms were over his midsection, one hand brought up to rest underneath his chin. With that Calvin look and brief nod, Louis went on, straight into a ninety degree swivel into a forced arch. His hands stretching in opposite directions until the fall, body rolling, left hand reaching for the sky.

An inhale, and Louis dropped to the floor in a sideways roll, legs tucked in once he faced the opposite direction, his body now parallel with the front of the stage. Each word that escaped Harry’s mouth had his heart racing more than the actual work of it all. The lyrics cracked Louis’ skinas if it were brittle, but the energy and calmness Harry radiated spurred Louis on, pushing him. One leg extended followed by the other, hands acting like a forward push of verve. Soon followed, a slide on his knee, dragging his body to face front. He sat on his knees before Jordan and Calvin, forearms flat and palms up almost in a stance that screamed hopelessness.

All control was given to Louis’ muscles, letting them make the trepid decisions meant to impress and tell a story without even knowing the rough draft. Yet as Louis listened, lending his ears all to the voice of the one Harry Styles, it was almost a message. Louis didn’t know if that was the case, but it sure felt like it, the dark noise filling his head once more. He stood, going into a low arabesque before turning over his shoulder running, running to escape it all. Of course it never worked, his body turning then going straight into a plié before leaping up into a firebird, arms above his head. He landed, stepping out into a forward facing second, opening up his arms, sweeping himself around, back bending and head dropping to where he could see behind him. 

The itch of wanting to know what the song sounded like originally was unbearable. Louis fought, his bones aching, but begging to continue. He caved, taking two chassés to the left, right arm flat while the left arm windmilled, extending upwards both times his feet met in the air. It was like a chase (which Louis tried not to react to the minuscule pun made in his head), and he wanted to get to the end of it. His prize was Harry’s words, hoping he could get something out of him, something of disappointment to shut him down once and for all. 

Another grand plié in second, arms extending in front of him followed. Tears pricked behind his eyes, teasing him as the next phrase went into two piqué turns and a safety, arms winding up just before the drop. This time he landed with his right knee tucked beneath him, left leg stretched out to the side. He grimaced, hoping the camera didn’t pick up the change in character. It was like Louis was being called out, Harry singing  _ I can see the signs, what’s on your mind?  _

Louis couldn’t do it, he couldn’t answer. It was obvious what was happening, too obvious. Harry wanted to burrow inside his mind and know every single dark and dreary detail, but Louis couldn’t do that. He could say what was wrong, but he couldn’t just let him in, no. It didn’t matter how much he craved someone’s views besides Calvin’s and Jordan’s. It didn’t. It couldn’t. 

He lay down on the ground before pushing up into a single handed bridge. For a moment, he relished in feeling like he was suspended from the ceiling, mere seconds away from a crash collision with the floor. But he had to exhale, letting it out by twisting his body into another safety. By now, it felt like his head was floating, completely detached from his physical being, and it wasn’t something that he had ever felt before.

His body kept pushing, aching, and despite his lack of headspace, his mind was still very much in control. It sent his heart skyrocketing, pulse hammering fiendishly in his temples and in his neck. That sent the tendon off, tremor fiercely and truculently. 

Calvin was then there, his face at least. It was focused directly on Louis, letting him know he was there. It was going to be okay, but the problem was that it wouldn’t be. It never was. Alas, he fought for the finish, not wanting to become collateral damage. 

During the whole time, Louis hadn’t had the stomach to turn his face to Harry’s figure on the stool. It was almost embarrassing to him, so he just listened, ears on high alert for every detail. So when the last words came from Harry’s mouth, Louis finally had the heart to look up at Harry from across the stage. Right there, eyes staring worriedly into him. Eyes that could delve in deep, making him in his skin so he could seep his way into Louis’ head knowing what was there. Louis inwardly laughed, knowing there would be much disappointment. It wasn’t daisies. It was a lagoon of tenebrosity. 

Louis took a shaky inhale, body finally relaxing, falling into a pit of stillness and utter despair. Whatever had been pooled at his feet, waiting patiently to swallow, finally did, disgusting all of the last tendrils of hope within him. 

“Louis,” Harry called. Just like the song. Calling out to him. He could see. He could see too much. He already saw way too much. 

Instead of responding, Louis went to grab his bag, not even bothering to put his shoes on before clamoring off the stage hurriedly. This time there were audible footsteps behind him. 

“Louis.” This time it was Jordan’s voice that permeated the air. It was a good thing it was him, it really was. So he turned, cheeks flushed, but feeling so very pale and drained. “I left Calvin with Harry, it’s okay.”

“You know it’s not okay,” was Louis’ immediate response to that. Jordan sighed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. 

“I do know. But you can’t just leave. I don’t know what happened after you ran off, but judging on everything that has happened since then, it wasn’t something your head was ready to do.” Jordan was calm and honest which made Louis feel better, just a tiny, tiny bit better. Louis shifted on his feet, gaze on the ground. 

“He just knows more than he needs to,” Louis’ voice was a whisper. “He’s not a constant, so why tell him more, yeah? It was professional at first obviously. Fucking hell, now I don’t know what this is. But I love it and hate it, and I’m  _ nervous.  _ But he found out. Too much. He’s in too deep.”

“He’s a good guy, Harry.” Jordan nodded. “I’d like to say I’m a pretty good judge of character after working with such a diverse clientele.”

That did get a smile from Louis, tender, yet defeated. The breeze of dreariness still went on, swaying Louis between queasiness and surety. The fear of opening up still rained down on him each second, not letting up, giving him a chance to breathe. And now he was presented with something so delicate, something that needed precision and an abundant amount of time.

Louis inhaled deeply. “I know, and that’s why I’m scared. Because he cares.”

Harry didn’t have all the time in the world to tend to Louis’ mind when the blaring siren of whatever happened to be wrong that day went ballistic. At least if Harry was impure and irritated, Louis could forget, but that was impossible. If someone was going to care, he needed someone that could stay and listen and actually give a fuck about him. Despite it being ignominious, Louis still wanted that bit of attention that he lacked. No matter how hard Calvin or Jordan equally tried, it was never enough. 

So maybe Calvin was right, he actually had to talk to someone. Someone professional. Maybe that person could be a constant like a pleasing zero acceleration velocity graph. 

-

 

The departing flight from Milan to London wasn’t until much later that evening, almost intolerably late for Louis’ conscious to be up and running in such a vast, open (very foreign) space. Seconds turned into minutes, spreading the divide between alertness and stupefaction. It was just him and his bag holed up in one of the cramped black chairs against the window. The only thing keeping Louis awake was the very near onslaught of terrorism inside his head and the artificial white light hanging from the ceiling.

He was early, very early. It was a pitiful attempt at getting Calvin and Jordan to bugger off, but he wanted to be alone, even if that meant suffering in the excruciating silence. To provide some sort of mild entertainment, he lived vicariously through fans at the concert tonight. And when Louis said he stopped breathing the moment he saw what Harry was wearing, he meant it. All the unnatural lighting became too much and the dizziness settled in, warping his vision for a possible three seconds before any kind of oxygen found its way back into his lungs. Soon, the sparkle of Harry suit wasn’t enough to keep him content. He pocketed the phone and pulled his hood over his beanie farther onto his head.

It was shit, it really was. There wasn’t a big enough voice to drain out the explosions in his head. 

A low buzz came from his phone, startling him from his offset stupor. One glance at the screen and his heart was in his mouth, palms sweaty. There was a pause, a moment where he considered not answering, but he wasn’t that cynical. 

“Hi,” he decidedly answered, shyness seeping through his pores. If he had a say, this wasn’t a good look on him.

“Hey, I didn’t think you would pick up.” He sounded so good, voice low and silky yet energized. Then again, he must be thriving off the energy from the show. And that’s when Louis realized just how late it was.

“Did Calvin tell you to call?” He would  _ sue  _ that dickhead.

“No, yes, but I wanted to call.” There was a pause, but Louis could hear the catch in Harry’s voice. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

“Buzzing.” It’s not like Calvin was on the other end of the line to call him out, so maybe Harry would take it and let go. 

“I’m not sure if I can make myself believe that.” Harry sighed. “I don’t know what I walked in on today, but-.”

“You’re right, you don’t know,” Louis cut in, staring up into the lights above, eyes going glassy until he had to turn away, small dots of colorful light following his line of sight. 

“Thing is, I want to know. I’m not asking for everything. I’m not promising I can help, but I want you to feel comfortable, like someone will listen.” It was an honest attempt. Since he met Jordan nine years ago, it was the most honest someone had sounded. At least about getting him to open up more about what was buried deep inside him, making ruin after ruin. 

“I don’t know the point. People usually disregard this or run in the opposite direction,” Louis pointed out, blinking, hoping to reduce the flashes of light before him. “And right now you are hurling yourself towards me.”

“We still work together. Being professional,” Harry spoke, he vaguely sounded like he was on the verge of crying, but maybe it was just the muffled sound of fuck knows what in the background. “Us, doing our professional things.”

“Things,” Louis said dumbly, kicking at the bag at his feet, an inconsistent tick going off in his ear. “I get it, but it’s hard, okay? I need someone that can stay and keep me still.”

“It must be a coincidence that I have an anchor tattoo and you have a rope.” Louis barely heard it, but it was there. He has a sudden urge to cry, the feeling gradually growing inside of his chest, rising up into his throat and sinuses, leeching onto his tear ducts almost like a threat.

“Anyway,” Louis changed the subject, and Harry took the hint.

“I didn’t want to do this over the phone. It would be more opportune and appropriate to do face to face, but I just want you to feel like you can confide in me.” Another awkward pause. “Professionalism, right?”

“I don’t know, it’s past the point of professional I think,” Louis offered. “It’s almost… intimate? Kind of does my head in.” He had to hold back a pathetic laugh, thinking his head was already so far in that a little more wouldn’t hurt.

“Okay then, um,” Louis switched the phone to his other ear, wiping his other hand on his thigh. “Pretend I’m Calvin?”

“Don’t think you would appreciate me calling you a dickhead,” he snorted. “Because you aren’t. A dickhead that is. And it frightens me I think.” 

Harry chuckled on the other end, and Louis desperately wanted to know how he looked right now. Was he curled up in bed? Sitting in a chair? Dressed? Naked? Showered? Still sweaty? Fuck, it made it heart soar. “Probably not. But let me ask you a question then. And, and just do your best to answer it?”

There was a sudden change in temperature and Louis was positive that it was just in the area of the chair where he sat. For the sake of sanity and embarrassment, Louis was glad a multitude of wires and distance separated them. His voice was on the precipice of just being a breath. “Okay.”

“What were you doing in the bathroom earlier?” He definitely went in for the punch with that one. It took a moment for Louis to process this was actually happening to him. Him sitting in the airport in Milan on the phone with Harry bloody Styles talking about his head. The flashback to him sitting on the marley eating sandwiches with Harry popped into his head. It was easy then, he could make it easy now. 

“I was,” Louis took a breath, realization hitting him that the inner corner of his right eye was essentially naked. “I was plucking out my eyelashes.”

It was silent on Harry’s end, absolutely nothing. Not even a shuffling about sound registered. So Louis let this borrowed confidence take the wheel. “You caught me in an episode. When I start getting really anxious or stressed over things, I get an itch, and I start plucking. Sometimes my eyelashes, sometimes my eyebrows. On bad days, it’s my hair.”

It was now just quiet, Harry’s breathing evident. “Is it like, is it a comfort thing?”

He sounded confused, not disgusted which Louis was going to count as a win in his book. “No, I hate it. Fucking hate it. It’s like I don’t have control. It stings so bad, but I can’t stop. It’s like an instinct of mine.”

Louis nudged his toe against the ground, rather impatiently waiting for something. There was the muffled sound of Harry’s breathing and some kind of movement. “Sorry, hold on.” Pause. “Okay, listen. First off, I want you to know that I don’t see you any differently.”

_ Typical.  _ As opposed to the very subject they were talking about. “Everyone says that, but then they act so strange.”

“It’s a hard thing to grasp when you don’t live with it everyday.” Louis felt like vomiting.

“You think I can grasp this? You really do? I have no idea why it had to be me that has to deal with this every waking day and it fucking sucks.” It was an abrupt flick, yanking the polar opposite emotions into Louis’ bloodstream, filling his head with fiery, turbulent anger.

“Hey, no. I didn’t mean harm by that,” Harry spoke, oddly calm about  _ everything.  _

Louis’ shoulders sank. He felt so small, and all the anger pointed at his heart like an arrow. “I’m sorry for snapping. It’s just so hard.”

“Well, like I said, I’m going to make an effort. Give you an outlet for whatever you need.” The softness in Harry’s voice made Louis want to cry even more than he already did. Despite the boiling anger and deep gashes of affliction, a small bit of his chest believed Harry, actually trusted him. “I-I hate the word, but is this like, a disorder?”

Louis’ breath caught. The windows surrounding the room turned into reflective surfaces for every emotion and thought he bottled up inside of him. As if it were a malfunctioning carousel, the room spun so quick, almost at the speed of light. Or maybe the room was turning into a rotational kinetic energy problem. In all the years of (barely) opening up about this or processing it with Calvin or Jordan, he had never said it outloud. 

But there was a moment for everything, and the string wound tight around his heart screamed for him to trust because  _ it would be okay.  _ “Um, it’s called trichotillomania.”

“Funny word that is. You know, I love saying  _ feuille de papier.  _ Not sure what the joy is. It just means piece of paper in French,” Harry transitioned. A rather botched attempt, but it worked and it got Louis to snort out a laugh. It was enough to allow Louis to slip from the depths of terrorization and not so whimsical swirls of black.

“Thank you, really,” Louis murmured, picking at the fuzz that resided on the hem of his hoodie. And then he snorted, thinking about how ridiculous it was of him to be wearing a hoodie in the middle of June. In Italy. But it was almost like a layer of protection and self comfort.

“You’re welcome, Louis.” There was an awkward pause before Harry picked up again. “I also l-.”

The moment Harry spoke, the announcement for his flight came over the speakers, jarring him from the haze of conversation. “Hey, don’t mean to cut this, but I have to board now. Thank you. I’ll let you know when I’ve landed. If that’s okay.”

He didn’t hear all that Harry said besides a mumbled  _ okay  _ before he hung up, grabbing his bag and darting to the terminal. Even with the residual anger and sadness, the dangling hope tugged him higher, holding him just above the ground. It was a light, almost heavenly feel now clinging to his body, so new and  _ right.  _

He handed his boarding pass over to the lady, flashing her a closed mouth smile even though his chest felt much more like a genuine toothy smile, almost like some kind of angelic one. It was possibly a symbol of freedom and relaxation. Maybe a foreshadow to a plausible goodness to enter his life. It was only possibilities, but he wouldn’t let that stop him from basking in the glory of the now for one of the first times in what felt like years.

“Trichotillomania,” Louis whispered to himself. Nothing changed. His face blossomed into a full tooth smile as he stepped past the attendant.

It was okay.

 

-

 

Except, it wasn’t okay. Five days had passed since Milan and Louis’ half hearted attempt at some kind of enlightenment with Harry. One day left of shaking alone in his and Calvin’s flat, nearly fucking his students over during his classes, and being a wretched insomniac. For a lack of better words, Louis felt like shit, and he still had to deal with the foreboding air surrounding his entire self. But with a massive headache, and a racing heart, nothing could be tamed. 

Around forty-five minutes of the eleven o’clock post meridiem were spent on the floor of the shower, cold water beating relentlessly against Louis’ tear stained cheeks. Time stretched, turning into some metaphorical Hooke’s Law problem that Louis couldn’t erase from his head. It was almost like the formula was etched on his forehead for the whole world to see, and for the owner’s of time to taunt him.

One day, and Calvin would deal with the brunt force of Louis’ antics, so with all things considered, giving him a ring now would be the worst idea imaginable. Another thing considered, Louis didn’t really have anyone else to talk to, someone to lend him a distraction.

Stupidity leaked from his temple when he thumbed the screen of his phone from his burritoed position beneath his duvet. Despite the evident overspill of stupidity, he still allowed himself to find Harry’s contact in his phone. One attempt, he promised himself. One attempt to contact him and maybe get some sort of mental relief. Realistically, Harry shouldn’t be answering his phone at half one in the morning, but as of late, Louis’ life defied reality.

What Louis hadn’t anticipated was the call going straight to voicemail. In that moment, it felt like his heart had stopped beating, a flatline on one of those annoying beeping machines in hospitals. However, Louis didn’t hang up before that startling beep, leaving a message of just heavy breathing. Surely he wouldn’t listen to the voicemail. Who fucking listened to voicemails? 

Then, of course, his head went to the worst place possible thinking Harry was tired of his never-ending shit, and they were cutting ties after the last dance.

It was quite possible that it was because of the dance. Louis had made the mistake of skimming through social media only to have people say he was using Harry to get a name for himself. If only they knew how his head worked, if only. He inhaled deeply, squeezing his phone tightly before placing it on the bedside table. 

Even with his head against his pillow, sleep wouldn’t wash over him. Only low thoughts and acerbity attached themselves to every nook of Louis’ brain, draining him yet keeping him wide awake. It took a whole new meaning dead man walking. 

Goddamn all the pretty boys with dimples, green eyes, and one too many rings. 

Goddamn Harry Styles for cozying up right in the center of his chest and blossoming up high and tall into his cerebral cortex.

 

When Louis woke with a scare that morning having a hard time grasping that he had actually been asleep. He may have been asleep, but it was more restless than fulfilling. Every centimeter of his ached for rest, strumming a guitar comprised of exhaustion. 

A pleasant surprise greeted him on his phone from Harry,  _ I’ll be in London tomorrow and the night after. _

Which was followed by a  _ I hope that you are okay  _ and a  _ we can talk then if you can.  _

Who was he to turn down Harry making time in his tour schedule for him?


	4. It's All I Got

[ Believe - Elton John ](https://open.spotify.com/track/0hACDgEDhKuQlv2ZhVbAIt)

 

**July 2018**

 

The first day of July brought Calvin and Jordan back for a full day, Harry back in London and a partially settled feeling in Louis’ stomach. Except the settling feeling didn’t arise until later, much later, that night when Harry bloody Styles arrived on his doorstep.

It had been a one off offer to have Harry over after his first show. Louis knew the guy would be disgustingly exhausted, and the chance of him actually agreeing to anything whatsoever, let alone responding to him was so fucking minimal. During those seven minutes between Louis impulsively sending the text and Harry actually responding, Louis contemplated lopping his head off with a butter knife or bashing his head against his bedroom door. If Louis was going to be brutally honest, he might have pissed himself just a bit when Harry graciously accepted, saying it would be late, but he would make it.

There was not a single clue inside of Louis’ grimy, fucked head that explained why he would ever pull such a stunt. This was ridiculous. No, beyond ridiculous. It was true because Calvin nearly doubled over with shock when he arrived back at the flat from a jog to see Louis dusting each singular lightbulb from all the light fixtures on their flat.

“It has to be fucking spotless, Cal,” Louis exclaimed, heart and head moving at some ungodly rate. He was drunk, surely. Or at least that is what Calvin had presumed. It was terrifying. Had Louis actually been one to drink something a tad more strong than a glass of wine, Louis would be off the walls pissed and probably ugly crying from some built up frustration.

“Who’s got you cleaning like this?” Hands placed on hips as he stood in the doorway looking worn as fuck. 

“Harry’s coming!” Louis was in a tizzy, going absolutely mad. After the lightbulbs, he moved to dusting off the molding around the perimeter of the room.

“Hasn’t he got a show tonight?” Calvin moved to drape himself over the arm of the couch nearly sending Louis into heart palpitations.

“I just cleaned that!” He snipped, then paused. He glared up at Calvin. “How do you know he has a show tonight?”

“Mate, it’s a Harry Styles show in London. Of course I know.” Calvin cozied himself up more on the sofa just to piss of Louis. “And he talked to me back in Milan asking if I could learn something on guitar. Wants to do another video already.”

“What the fuck?” He dropped the duster and stood to his feet. A newfound disappointment coursed through him like raging rapids of existential doom. “Does he, um, want me for this one? No, of course not. I botched it up so bad last time he could never ask me to do that again. For fuck’s sake I ca-.”

“Louis, stop.” And he did. Calvin sat up straight, twiddling about with his thumbs. “He told me not to say anything because he loved it. It was real because you didn’t know what to expect when you stepped on the stage. Said I’d make sure you were there.”

His heart was going everywhere, bouncing in tandem with the circles that his head was spinning. The notorious H. H. Holmes flashed across his mind, the word asphyxiation echoing in his ears, almost a murderous chant. The flush on his neck was contagious, his cheeks absorbing the color with welcome arms.

“Oh,” was all he could get out for the time. “That can’t be true.”

Calvin rolled his eyes. 

“And I told him to call you.”

That got a scoff from Louis, turning his back to start working on the molding once more. “Fucking course you did.”

“Yeah because you are arse over tits for him.” Calvin smirked from his place on the sofa.

“What?” Louis hissed, whipping his head back around. He was pretty sure that he had whiplash now. Try explaining that to Harry or anyone for that matter.

“You heard me,” he retorted sending a fire ablaze in Louis’ eyes, chest,  _ everywhere.  _ Everything burned, and the most painful of all were Calvin’s eyes boring like lasers into his skin. 

“It’s- Calvin. It’s not like that.” Louis pressed his lips together, positively seething. Maybe he contracted rabies within the two seconds of breath between conversation. At least that it what he assumed having rabies would feel. Or maybe someone dunked him head first into a caldron of mercury.

“Mate, you at least want to fuck him silly,” Calvin urged, sitting up straight now. “I’m not as perceptive as Jordan, but I’m not daft.”

“For fuck’s sake. It’s  _ Harry Styles _ . He may be understanding and accepting of- of my head, but the problem is my head. I’m fucking mental!” Louis exploded, the fire bursting out of his ears and mouth, almost like a terrified dragon. Smoke billowed from his nostrils, something a little less than angering boiling in his veins. “Oh, and maybe the fact that me having a dick is the problem?”

“Still doesn’t defeat the fact that  _ you  _ want to shag  _ him.”  _ In another time and place, Louis would have nodded his agreement, busying himself to distract everyone, including himself, from his beyond flustered state. However, here he was, blubbering ever so lovely in a rather pitiful attempt to deny any and all accusations. 

“It’s wouldn’t just be a shag for me,” Louis finally whispered causing Calvin’s brows to shoot up, mouth dropping open. “I think I properly like him? Maybe I’m just infatuated and needy because he actually listens to me and… and he’s really pretty. But, like, he’s more than just a pretty face?”

“When you say it like that, all concerning, you don’t seem too sure of it, Lou.” Calvin stood, hands going to his hips, but there was a trace of something soft and knowing on his features. 

“Fuck you.” Louis paused. “I’m serious though. And you know. You know how hard it is for me. You have lived with me as a burden for so long, I don’t know how you do it.”

“You are far from a burden.” Despite his reassuring tone, it didn’t aid Louis in the slightest. “I’m still learning everyday, and I will continue to be there for you, okay?”

“Yeah,” Louis murmured, hand clutching the duster tightly. He could feel Calvin still standing there, and he kept his back to him until he was sure that he left the room. In that instance, he let out the breath he didn’t know that he had been holding. That followed with the struggle of trying to inhale again.

It was just a touch of infatuation, of course.

However, instead of basking in the who knows how many hours until Harry arrives, Louis forgot about cleaning and headed off to his room. Truly, he made a concentrated effort not to slam the door behind him, but in his raging fury of hatred towards Calvin and problematic dip in his stomach just from hearing the name Harry, he slammed it. 

Drama and theatrics clung to Louis throughout his whole life, so it was no surprise that he threw himself on the bed like a rag doll, huffing and puffing like the big bad wolf he thought he was. What he didn’t expect was the tears to start rolling down his cheeks, a complete unpredicted thunderstorm. He sobbed into his pillow, his head and chest aching for any kind of light on the situation because, of course, things were falling way off the course of professionalism in Louis’ mind. 

So when Louis woke up four hours later from a nap after crying for who knows long, he had a message on his phone from Harry and a semi that almost brought him back to tears. Due to the jolt that Harry’s text sent through his body, there was no time for crying. He simply said he would be able to make it around one in the morning, the time on Louis’ phone already reading half ten. Pure fear and electricity courses through his veins as he surveyed his room. It was a disgrace.  _ He  _ was a disgrace. 

Dance gear and clothes were strewn across each corner, stacks of CD’s littered his dresser along, and Louis was right in the middle of his bed, reeking of tears and sadness and possibly some residual jizz, but who really knew. 

In the blur of chucking literally every last piece of what made it look like someone lived in the room was shoved in the miniscule closet, Louis didn’t even bother to take the chances of what it still looked like outside his room. Fitfully, he ripped the sheets and duvet from his bed, dragging them out to the washer. With a one track mind, he honed in on the washer, not daring to look at his peripheral. There was too much of a chance of an even more burdensome distraught energy to explode within his rather delicate mind.

He almost attempted to trek back to his room with his eyes closed, but his clumsy (some may ask why he danced, but it was just  _ different _ ) feet would lead him astray. There was a halt when he stepped through the doorway into his room. Before him, the bed was bare and almost,  _ almost  _ Louis started crying again. A sense of foolishness washed over him. It’s as if he subconsciously believed something more would happen when Harry arrived. His cheeks heated with embarrassment as he turned on his heels to go to the linen closet to grab at least some sheets to cover the naked disaster.

“Fuck’s sake,” he mumbled to himself as he tussled with the fitted sheet over each corner of the bed. It was humiliating that this feat alone made him sweat more than when he danced. Maybe it was the overwhelming trauma bubbling up inside his brain, the boiling heat curling in the pit of his stomach, and the pitiful fight with the fabric. 

Or it was just hot in the room. That was it. The room was just unbearably hot for the summer.

After the mortifying struggle, he collapsed back on the bed with a heavy sigh. Everything had become so ridiculous in such a short amount of time. There was not a single clue as to how auditioning for Harry Styles turned into Harry Styles coming over to Louis’ fucking flat, but here it was happening.

Harry was too pure and selfless for this earth. It was a thought that nagged at Louis more often than it should. Harry and his dumb smile, dumb dimples, and dumb rings. Him and his stupid words, stupid eyes, and stupid heart. Harry Styles and his godforsaken grandad trousers! His hands, his fingers…

Louis’ breath hitched, eyes squeezing shut. It was a fruitless attempt to keep his hand from pressing the heel of his hand into his crotch. His heart thudded in his ears, echoing loudly. A burning coil of heat in his abdomen sent a chill down Louis’ spine. That alone made Louis think about the stupidly real question as to what would happen if the coil stretched a mere two point four centimeters along with the spring constant… Simple maths, really. The thoughts of physics didn’t stop a clandestine hand from popping open the button and zipper on his trousers and into his pants.

He hissed when his hand contacted the overly sensitive skin at the base of his cock. His fingers itched to come in contact with more, but a vision of Harry flashed before him, eyes opening in shock, hand still stuffed down his pants.

Harry.

Harry would be here in, in what? Louis glanced over at the clock on the bedside table, hand flying out of his pants at lightning speed when he saw that the numbers read half midnight already. His mind rushed, baffled how time just disappeared in the literal blink of his eyes. Surely that was wrong. Two hours had not passed of him being completely delved in Harry bloody Styles.

Flustered, Louis clambered off the bed and taking off to shower. In his alarm, he nearly plowed over Calvin who was exiting the place he needed to be at least half an hour ago. Instead he stumbled, out of breath. Calvin gave him one of  _ those  _ looks.

“Just headed over to Jordan’s. You seem a little… off.” Calvin smirked which made Louis roll his eyes. “Be careful, Lou.”

“If you could shut the fuck up, that would be dead nice of you.” He was serious, slamming the door behind him only to hear laughter on the other side. That smug bastard would cause Louis’ downfall. He could just feel it.

One quick yet thorough shower, a brush of the teeth, and a cup of tea later, Louis managed to make the bed look halfway presentable and for no reason whatsoever. For all he knew, they would just cozy up on the sofa and call it a night.

The thirty minutes that Louis presumed he had turned into an hour which deflated him only in the slightest. He was left alone with the billowing shadows of doubt and self consciousness. Never in his life had that been a good thing for him. There was no time for positive self reflection when everything came as an attack, eating angrily at any piece of Louis they could obtain.

It wasn’t until there was an urgent knock on the door that the thoughts dissipated, only a fine mist left. He was quick to his feet though, throwing open the door quickly, trying to appear halfway composed.

“Harry,” Louis breathed only to have the air knocked right back out of him in a hug when he turned from shutting the door.

“That’s my apology for being behind schedule,” Harry responded, still tangled up in Louis. Then, he froze, pulling away, a look of morbid shock on his face. “Fuck, I’m disgusting. And here you are smelling like, like- Have you been drinking?”

Louis stared at him blankly, quite frankly not giving two shits about how Harry smelled. “I- No? What?”

“Fuck’s sake, I sound so awful, too. That came out very wrong,” Harry stumbled, hands flailing about while Louis tried to hold back a smile. Because, fuck, it was endearing watching Harry be the flustered one and reassuring that he wasn’t the only one to get this way. “You just smell like something familiar, and I don’t-.”

“A mojito?” Louis cut in, crossing his arms over his chest. Suddenly aware that they were still standing in the entrance of the flat, he moved around Harry walking towards the couch.

“Yeah,” Harry paused, following Louis, who was now perched on the far left cushion, cautiously. “Yeah, that’s it actually.”

“Harry Styles likes mojitos, huh? You learn something new everyday.” That alone made Harry flush under his gaze. Louis wished he could make that happen all the time. Instead of taking a seat, Harry shuffled about, thumbing at the material of his shirt. A huff passed Louis’ lips. “It’s my body wash, so don’t feel bad, yeah? It’s okay. And you’re one to talk about being disgusting when you spent a solid amount of time with my sweaty, dancing body, so please. Don’t stress over something like that. Also, sit down. I can only presume how exhausted you are.”

That did get Harry to smile at him much to Louis’ relief. A smile wide and even like the first swing of a pendulum. There was no use in lying, but it did make Louis’ heart flutter. With glorious confidence, Harry placed himself down in between the far right and middle cushions.

“Thank you. And, again, I’m sorry that it’s so late. You’re probably more exhausted than I am.” Louis wanted to ring his neck because it was fine. Truly fine. He was pleased that Harry even bothered showing up. In return, he gave Harry a long look, taking in his relaxed state. A state that he relished in those days they spent together at the rented out studio.

“Nevermind me,” Louis paused, abruptly feeling confused and lost. “I’ve never gotten close or, er, talked to one of my, um, employers outside of the workplace. How does this work?”

Harry laughed out loud, dimples shining like the sun. “You’re a funny one.”

“‘M serious! I’m really bad at this, I swear,” Louis argued, tucking his feet underneath himself, almost pouting over how good Harry looked even if he still had that twinge of dry sweat. Louis just desperately wanted to lick his neck.

Harry’s face softened. “I’ve never really had the chance to make meaningful friendships since this all happened.”

Now  _ that  _ made Louis want to cry again because the ultimate force behind those words were like a titanium shield to the face. There was a quiver to his voice once he spoke again. “I’d quite like to be your friend.”

“Friends with Harry Styles or just Harry?”

“Just Harry is perfect for me.”

Harry thumbed over the tiny hole on the knee of his joggers, a flicker of hope in his eyes. “Dance for me before the last show?”

“Yeah,” Louis smiled, eyes crinkling. “Of course.”

“Under one condition,” Harry clasped his hands together, a sullen look washing over his face which contrasted starkly with the joy just seconds before. An exponential swoop of his stomach made the muscles in his abdomen clench. That infinite stream of tule fog clouded his vision, a bee buzzing right where his amygdala say in his head. Harry inhaled deeply. “Tell me what you were going to say when you left that oddly breathy voicemail.” 

Louis blanched, and he was sure his heart stopped beating for what felt like hours. He blinked then licked his lips. “It was stupid, really.”

Harry rolled his eyes, toeing off his shoes before tucking his own legs underneath himself. “You wouldn’t have called if you hadn’t wanted to talk. If you don’t recall, you don’t really like talking about the things that bother you, so it must have been important.”

Louis swallowed. “I was just lonely, okay? And it was eating away. Just eating and eating-.”

“I looked up trichotillomania,” Harry cut in, biting down on his lower lip. He untucked his legs, scooting himself fully onto the middle of the sofa, body facing Louis. “Is there more to it than just what you have told me?”

“Harry, I don’t, you don’t-,” Louis choked, sparse lashes fluttering as he cocked his head to look at Harry full on. 

“I don’t mean to press, and it’s not like there is a specific cause, but some factors could potentially influence the habit. I just wanted to know more about it because it’s fascinating and I know I shouldn’t say that because it’s such a struggle for you, but I wanted to help you and make you feel comfortable enough to talk to someone about how you feel and not just-,” Louis placed a hand over Harry’s mouth compulsively. He then realized his eyes were wet, his brow furrowed. 

“Thank you,” Louis whispered. His mind circled like a race car on its track, his heart beating like a powerful bass drum. Cautiously, he removed has hand from Harry’s mouth. He may or may not have basked in the slight tickle and warmth from his breath on his palm. “You didn’t have to do any of that. Thank you.”

A grin spread across Harry’s face, his dumb green eyes lighting up so wonderfully. “I want you to feel like you can be yourself no matter what everyone else around you thinks.”

Had this been an Ohm’s Law problem, Louis might have been very well blessed because of the simple mathematics. The hot current of electrifying chemistry was almost too much, the voltage flying off the charts, sending shockwaves through every fiber of his being. 

At the same time, Harry and Louis were both charged particles, polar opposites that is, surrounded by an electric field that attracted them to one another. Or at least that is what Louis felt. Almost like a magnet tugging at Louis’ center of gravity, pulling, pleading for him to get closer to Harry. 

“Louis,” Harry whispered, suddenly so close. It was then that Louis realized the invisible force had moved Louis closer, leaning into Harry practically. He sat up straight, blinking, heart beating out of his chest.

“Sorry, that was…” Louis breathed. “I don’t know.”

“I lost you there for a second.” The simple bob of Harry’s throat had Louis wanting to lean back in again, smell him, hold him. 

“No, I’m good.” Louis paused, staring down at Harry’s ringless fingers. So bare, so long without extravagant decoration. He did, however, notice the small flakes of black around the edges of his nails. His breath caught at that before he looked back up at Harry. “It’s late, I’m sorry I made you come all the way here when you need to rest. You should- you should head out soon.”

Harry tilted his head, voice like a gentle breeze. “Do you want me to leave?”

A wave, a simple harmonic motion beat relentlessly against Louis’ temples, nearly blinding him with bright light.

“No,” it was strangled, but it was out there. 

That, at least, changed Harry immensely, almost like a voltage surge taking the path of least resistance. He smiled. “A mate’s sleepover. Haven’t had one of those in ages.”

Louis shook his head, laughing as he stood up. “Let me grab some blankets for the couch. You can take my bed, yeah?”

“Perfectly fine on the couch, thank you very much,” Harry spoke, reaching out to take Louis’ hand and pull him back down onto the couch. Louis felt so… safe. Safe and secure with just his hand wrapped in Harry’s. Those petulant swirls and horrifying nothingness hid away, giving Louis free reign. “You take your bed, and we can talk more about this before the show. You still promise me you’ll dance, right?”

Louis turned his head in the hopes that Harry wouldn’t see the infatuation and contentment seeping his eyes and mouth. “Yeah, I do promise you.”

“Look me in the eyes and tell me, Louis,” Harry demanded. Except, it wasn’t harsh, it wasn’t all that demanding. He was gentle, soft, his hand still holding onto Louis’. So Louis did turn to face Harry, cheeks kissed with warmth. 

“I promise you, Harry,” Louis murmured, heart beating so rapidly that it almost was painful to endure. He inhaled deeply and stood before he did something silly. 

“Thank you.” Harry beamed and Louis’ heart stopped. Everything froze and those terrifying swirls popped out of the deep crevices inside of him, galavanting about like they solely owned Louis. 

“Right.” Pause. “Let me get you some blankets, yeah?” 

Louis walked off, a stinging wetness in the inner corners of his eyes. It hit him like a ton of bricks that maybe Calvin was right. Maybe Louis just needed a shag to get him out of this mindset. He couldn’t go on looking awestruck anytime he was in Harry’s presence.

For fuck’s sake, he wanted to have a  _ mates  _ sleepover. He may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but he knew damn well that mates don’t suck each other’s cocks. 

Especially straight, uninterested mates. 

He shook his head, praying for some sort of miracle in this pitiful reality which he lived. 

 

-

 

“Did you plan on telling me that Harry Styles was going to be sleeping on our couch?” was the first thing Louis heard when he woke up the next morning. 

When he finally had the energy to open his eyes, blinking sleepily, Calvin was sat at the foot of his bed. Louis’ eyebrows shot up once we fully focused on Calvin, a guffaw passing his lips to which he quickly covered his mouth.

“Did Jordan maul you last night, lad?” Louis asked once he composed himself. Calvin’s eyes looked like they were about to fall out of his head and Louis swears he heard a muttered “fuck”.

Calvin cleared his throat. “Never mind that.”

“She was a fiesty one, Cal. Fucking insane, let me tell you.” Louis sat up all the way, mirth in his eyes as he pointed in the general vicinity of the spot. 

“For fuck’s sake!” Calvin exclaimed, pulling the sheets away from Louis and up to cover his neck. 

“You’re definitely telling me about this later.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” A huff. “Why is Harry Styles on our couch?”

“Obviously he slept over, you fuck wit.” Louis rolled his eyes, tossing his legs over the side of the bed to stand up. 

“No shit, Lou. What happened?” Calvin turned to watch Louis walk to his wardrobe, clad in only boxers.

“Nothing happened, thank you.”

“What  _ really  _ happened?”

Louis stuck up his middle finger behind him, grabbing a plain white tee from the shelve with his other hand and then a clean pair of briefs from the built in bin. For a lack of retaliation, Calvin just gave him the bird as well.

“You, on the other hand, should tell me about that th-,” Louis was cut off by a timid knock on his bedroom door.

“Louis?” Before Louis could swallow, his heart leapt into his throat, nearly choking him in the process. Who gave this man the right to sound like  _ that  _ in the morning? He quickly pulled the plain tee over his head, going for the door. He opened it just a crack, slipping out, leaving a snickering Calvin in his bed. 

“Morning, Harry,” Louis croaked, tugging his shirt down all the way over his torso. Harry stood there all pigeon-toed and soft looking still in the clothes from the night before. “Want some breakfast? May not have much, but I’m sure I can work something out. Been telling Cal to go to the shop when he goes out for his run, but I haven’t had-.”

Louis stopped when Harry shook his head. “I’m alright, yeah? I just- I wanted to know if it was okay for me to use your shower?”

Louis softened, arms crossing over his chest. “Of course. Fuck, I should have offered last night if you felt gross last night after the show.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You’re alright, I promise. But thank you. Thank you for letting me stay over and use your shower.”

A moment passed and Harry added, “And for dancing for me.”

A smile spread across Louis’ face, the magnetic tug of everything polar to what Louis was drew him closer to Harry. It was only a waiver of step, but close enough to where they were breathing the same air particles. If only he could taste them. 

“‘S my job, yeah?” Those words were uncontrolled by himself. The demonic, glaring creatures rattled his brain once more, leaving him without control. In embarrassment, he looked down at the ground. 

Harry leaned down, lips probably only three centimeters from Louis’ ear. “A friend helping a friend.”

Harry started to walk off, Louis’ skin now turned to goose flesh. He shifted his weight before looking up.

“Harry, wait,” Louis breathed and Harry turned. There was a beat in between the next spoken thought. “I never asked how the last video went over with your team. Is it okay?”

There was a fumble with the smile on Harry’s mouth, but he nodded. “Good. They were really good with it.”

The striking wave of tension that quickly built up in Louis’ shoulders disappeared with one exhale. A billow of smoke escaped his ear, relieving the pressure built up behind his eyes. “Good.”

Harry swallowed, still not turning, so Louis continued. “So you still want to keep making videos after today?”

“I don’t think you are going to sway me not to.” Harry tilted his head. “Gives me some freedom of choice.”

Louis grinned, leaning against the doorframe. “And I do like to dance outside of a professional work setting.”

“Then I think it works just fine for the both of us.”

“Yeah.”

There was an unsettling air between both of them, neither of them moving. However when a “Lou!” came from the other side of the bedroom door, Louis jumped, banging his head back against the frame. 

“Oi! Fuck off I’m coming,” Louis sighed, hand going to his head. Harry’s brow was now furrowed, shoulders slumped as Louis opened up the door and the stinging feeling behind his eyes returned, momentarily blinding him in all senses. “Sorry, Calvin calls. You’re welcome to whatever products are in there, yeah?”

Harry grimaced just as Louis stepped into the room, Louis’ heart nearly jackrabbiting out of his chest. The door shut behind him before he even had a clue as to what Harry said in response. 

“I hate you, Cal.” Louis was fuming. “Fucking hate you.”

Calvin just smirked at him from his place in the end of the bed. “Love you, too.”

 

-

 

The ceiling was high, scary high. The amount of places Louis had performed over the years didn’t amount to the vast, taunting size of the arena before him. He took a quick glance over towards Harry who was perched on his stool chatting it up with Jordan. (Cinematography and videography blah, blah, blah.)

But maybe the prickling nerves at the back of his neck weren’t just from the ceiling, but from the one man sat atop a stool, too pretty for his own good. 

This time around, Harry already had on his trousers. Fucking leopard print trousers that, honestly, shouldn’t look as good as they do. The level of high fashion upon which Harry stood, intimidated Louis causing him to flinch almost. Because in comparison to the over the top trousers and too pristine black button up, Louis was decked in a lilac t-shirt and, after much convincing from Calvin, black short shorts that showed off his defined quads. 

It was unfair, really. He felt so out of place simply being on the same stage as Harry. The urge to tweak at his eyebrow squirmed through his veins and capillaries. All he wanted was something to numb the darkness ready to forcefully penetrate any unguarded surface of his brain. 

Fortunately, he stopped, thinking about how he had actually filled in part of his brow this morning after covering up Calvin’s disgustingly malicious hickey (if you could even call it that at this point). This morning had been disastrous on Louis’ nerves, thinking about the arena and next thing he knew, part of his brow was gone and he was a teary mess until Calvin, once more knocked some sense into him and receiving a somber look from Harry, almost,  _ almost  _ like he was promising a talk later.

“Louis.” The voice was soft, yet alive and unmistakably Harry’s. He flicked his head towards the voice then towards the front where Jordan had set up the camera and back towards Harry where Calvin was now sat in the chair beside him.

“You ready?” Harry asked, eyes boring straight into his face.

Afraid of his own voice, he simply nodded, reaching down to adjust the material of his turners around his big toe.

Today was different, of all days. The moment Calvin started strumming the guitar, an unknown weight dropped onto Louis’ shoulders which ultimately set the mood for the entire upcoming performance. Today was different because Louis kept his eyes on Harry this time, not daring to look away until he felt dizzy and panicked all at once.

It wasn’t until Harry started singing when Louis made the first move. However, when the words infiltrated his brain, the beat in his body paused, a nervous spasm shaking down his spine. 

The tune Calvin was playing had just been a backdrop to the beauty perched on the stool, but now that the realization hit of precisely what song this was… Louis couldn’t breathe. He silently pleaded for Harry to look at him during his brief pause. Alas, he did not spare him a glance and Louis pushed forward.

The projected, gentle, supposed to be somber tune turned into a fierce, brutal battle between Louis and himself. 

He stood in a forced arch, facing the left forty five, arms outstretched, the energy reaching way past his fingertips. Defying all laws of sound, it felt like Harry was singing right in his ear when he was, in fact, on the opposite side of the stage. It was unnerving, definitely a feeling Louis did not need on top of every tiny thing that ate away at him every second of the day. 

But there was no stopping.

Aggressively, he windmilled his arms backward until his arms were semicircles in front of him, palms towards his face.

_ Love has no boundaries  _ chanted repeatedly in his head despite the ongoing lyrics and melody. A soft, humorous snort left his body. In no world was that possibly true. Truthfully, it brought a twinge of pain to his chest. The only remedy was Harry’s eyes on his, but not once did his glance fall upon Louis.

The ache deepened. In retaliation, Louis dropped to the ground in a safety followed by a fluid ground roll to standing flat front. From his peripheral, he could see Harry, his focus solely on the camera. Louis’ eyes went to Calvin next who already had his eyes on Louis. His breath caught in his throat, easily noticed by Calvin as he arched his brow.

With a miniscule shake of his head, he persevered, arms alternating windmills, each foot stepping to match the beat of his arms. Of course, the most inopportune of problems struck him over the head as he went into a deep plié. Physics! Rotational kinematics! He never wanted to throw up more. 

Frankly, over the course of a millisecond, he debated running off stage and never again doing one of these videos again. It might save him from more issues than one.

But no, Louis clenched his eyes shut, a bead of sweat dripping down from his temple as he pressed off the floor into a middle split leap. Everything was slow motion, like one of those intense scenes in movies that Louis didn’t think could actually be felt in reality. He was a fighter, physically that is. He could push his body to all sorts of boundaries. In the end, he just hoped his head would catch up.

Louis’ left hand wrapped around the back of his left thigh, lifting his attitude leg as his right arm circled over his head. A chaîné turn flowed next into the prep for a series of pirouettes. The squeeze of his core felt different this time, a warm buzz leaping up into his throat, dizzying him despite his focused spotting. 

A triple pirouette followed by five in à la seconde, an axel jump then five more pirouettes à la seconde gave Louis time to mourn the loss of watching Harry sing. It was devastating honestly. 

Out of mental strength to keep his eyes from wandering, he went into a turning illusion, eyes brushing over Harry’s upside down figure. A shiver racked his spine, pulling him upwards. 

He fought and fought and fought, his eyes not wanting to leave Harry. Deep down, he fought to impress him, hold his attention, have Harry appreciate him moreso. 

During brief moments of turning and backwards motions, he noticed Calvin and Jordan had both picked up on his antics. If it wasn’t for Harry sitting where he was, or the fact that they were filming, Louis would have started crying, maybe letting out a good scream for his embarrassment. 

He had already had enough shit from Calvin prior to this moment, he definitely didn’t need more. 

Louis himself didn’t realize how close he had gotten to Harry and Calvin until he was facing forward, Jordan staring at him with wide eyes and parted lips. From the corner of his eye he could see Harry’s mussed up hair, the hair Louis desperately wanted to pull. 

He choked, nearly stumbling, but saved it with a classic safety as Harry’s voice faded into a soft hum alongside the strumming of notes. 

And here was the end. 

From the front of the stage, he heard a hiccup like snort right as the guitar went silent. Shame coursing through his veins like a drug, Louis lifted his head and learned back at Calvin who was swallowing a laugh.

Louis rolled his fear filled eyes, turning to look at Harry. For the first time since he started the dance, Harry was looking at him, a broad smile on his face. Immediately, the fear and angst flushed from his system, a blinding smile forming on his mouth, his diaphragm expanding and contracting rapidly. 

“What did you think?” Harry’s voice was soft, but then his brow furrowed. “Of the song that is. Yeah, um, the song choice? Was it okay to work with?”

Louis laughed. “You’re crazy. It was great. I’m… I’m flexible.”

Calvin barked out a laugh, trying to poorly hide it with a cough. That earned him a brief glare to which he put his hands up in defense alongside a taunting smile. 

“It was good though, Harry. Promise. I hope what I brought to the table did your voice justice.” He moved so he was kneeling, body angled towards Harry’s stool.

“Wouldn’t have you here if it didn’t.” Harry smiled then quickly bit it back making Louis’ heart drop to the pit of his stomach. 

“Thank y-.”

“Show time! Um, I have to get ready. You can clean up to, yeah. Thanks!” Harry stood quickly, practically running off the stage leaving a baffled, pouting Louis. 

“Mate,” he heard Jordan call, “could you be any more obvious?”

Louis flushed deeply, huffing about as he stood to his feet. 

“Should ‘ave heard the talk I gave him yesterday! He’s proper gone.” Calvin added.

“For fuck’s sake!” Louis shouted, hands on hips. 

He really, truly needed new friends. These dolts read way too much into things, surely. Or maybe not. But that wasn’t something they needed to get into right now. 

On the stage Harry would be performing in some odd hours. 

Jordan and Calvin just laughed at him. 

 

-

 

One thing Louis hadn’t expected from tonight was getting to see Harry perform. Sure, he had watched maybe one too many live recordings of his shows. However, seeing Harry in the flesh doing what he loves was so fucking surreal. It was to the point where the nerves and excitement were making him shake so bad that Jordan and Calvin had to stand on either side of him so he wouldn’t flop over from convulsions.

Before meeting Harry, Louis knew him. It was almost impossible not to know who he was. On another note, once the two met and whatever they do became a  _ thing,  _ Louis easily wrapped himself in the comforting blanket of Harry’s most recent album. 

Back to what before him, Harry had been prancing about the stage looking more than delectable. A fire surged deep in his core making him unable to look at Calvin or Jordan, afraid they would be able to see exactly what he was thinking in that moment. 

To everyone’s confusion, everything stopped after Harry sang The Chain. It was rather alarming and it took a lot of strength not to bolt from behind side stage to see if things were alright. That feeling he got the first time they met reappear, the devastating  _ boom! boom! boom!  _ of his heartbeat echoing in his ears, driving him mad. 

Then, Harry’s hand rose, screams rising in the crowd. He brought his fingers to his lips in a gushing motion before moving back to the microphone. 

“Tonight has been amazing. This entire tour has been amazing,” Harry started, the screams nearly deafening. 

Even from where Louis was stood, he could see the smile on Harry’s face. 

“Lou, you’re shaking again, mate. You okay?” Calvin asked, both him and Jordan staring down Louis. 

An eye roll and wave of the hand was all they got in response. He was  _ trying  _ to focus on Harry. 

“I wanted to thank three people,” a load of screams, “for helping me have some creative freedom over the past couple months.”

Louis’ back straightened at that, his eye twitching from the roar of the crowd. He glanced back and forth between Jordan and Calvin.

“Did you know about this?” 

They both shook their heads.

“Thank you to Jordan and Calvin for helping with the videography and musicality.” The crowd was insane, and Louis thought he might fall over from the bright intensity of Harry’s smile. “And keep your eyes open for another video.”

Genuinely, Louis had never seen a crowd go so ballistic. He wrapped his arms around both Jordan and Calvin’s shoulders.

“Fucking proud of you lads. This is mental.”

Calvin kicker him in the shin and Jordan pinched his hip. 

“Mate, you’ve done more work than any of us here. Be proud of yourself.” Jordan pressed, shaking his head. 

“...and if Louis could come up here for a moment, that would be great.” Louis caught at the last moment, every muscle in his body tightening worse than ever. 

That was until he was jarred back to reality by Calvin’s hand slapping him on the back. 

“Go get your man!” 

“Oh, piss the fuck off. Really?” Louis rolled his eyes, shuffling his way towards the stage and away from the raucous laughter coming from the two behind him. 

And then there Louis stood, two steps up on the stairs. Nervous ticks started flicking on like lightbulbs in the dark, irritating his skin and brutally disturbing his mental state like some barbaric creature. 

He was desperate to pluck his eyelashes again, just something to soothe the everpresent itch. However, in that moment, Harry glanced to the side of the stage. With his special, very Harry, very accepting mind, he flashed a smile, gesturing for Louis to step up. 

There was no way Louis could deny that, terrifying itch and all. 

The moment he stepped upon the stage, the crowd went positively insane. Absolutely mad. All around him, the air felt thick and warm, sending him into a daze of confusion. 

It was a complete shock when Harry wrapped him in a hug, whispering in his ear. “Thank you, truly.”

Once Louis was in his arms, everything settled and he could breathe again without the gnawing itch to pluck. On the opposite end of it, that scared Louis. One person being able to calm him during any given moment, and that person being Harry Styles? To anyone, that would be unreal and so very wrong. 

“You’re welcome,” he murmured back.

In that moment, that’s when Louis thought about the classes he had skipped and days he had missed at the studio just to help out Harry. In the moment of performing for him, it seemed like nothing, but now, in front of the mass amount of fans, the heavy weight banged him over the head.

He waved out at the crowd bashfully, heart pounding until Harry leaned over and whispered. “‘M not sure if you really pay attention to social media, but some fans thought it would be funny to ship us together. ‘M really sorry about that.”

Louis gave him a quizzical look, the looming dark swirls inching closer to every crevice of his brain. The fact that Harry was apologizing for something like that broke Louis more than he wanted to admit. It was rather terrifying thinking that he may not even fully support…

He had to stop thinking that or he just might fall over in front of everyone. 

Harry placed a hand on his shoulder, startling him. The elasticity of his heart nearly displaced so far back to shoot his heart into space. 

“...so again, thank you all for the support,” Louis started listening again, now unsure of how much he missed. “We hope to keep this going.”

That’s when everything blacked out, and Louis’ chest felt completely compressed. Somewhere in the shuffle of it all, he hugged Harry once more and was off the stage back standing with Calvin and Jordan. The two of them have him skeptical worrisome looks. 

“Buzzin’,” Louis choked out, shrugging his shoulders before turning around to face the stage again. 

Within those three seconds, his shoulders relaxed and he smiled up at Harry as the show went on. 

Tonight was the end of a tour, but the start of a new era of freedom. Or at least that is how Louis saw it. 

And, hopefully, it would all work out in the long run. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been ages it feels like, and I apologize, but I was in a very dark place. But I'm back! After this chapter, things will definitely be picking up, so hopefully you all are excited. Thank you all so much. Kudos and comments are appreciated.


End file.
